


19 Days Tumblr Prompts

by powerandpathos



Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 18,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22879804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/powerandpathos/pseuds/powerandpathos
Summary: A collection of prompts received and originally posted on Tumblr. Mostly He Tian/Guan Shan, but generally varied. Some short, some long, some multi-part. Works will be added as and when filled on Tumblr.
Relationships: He Cheng/Brother Qiu (19 Days), He Tian/Mo Guanshan (19 Days), Jian Yi/Zhan Zhengxi (19 Days), Mo Guanshan/She Li (19 Days)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 379





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to all those who have prompted me thus far, and if I haven't gotten to yours yet, please know it hasn't been deleted, and will be filled when I have some time/inspiration!

**Tianshan. "I think I might be broken, or heartless, or something."**

* * *

‘I think I might be broken. Or—or heartless or something.’

Guan Shan looks at him—at the nearly empty bottle of _baijiu_. It’s the third night this month he’s found He Tian slumped over the chrome fixings of his brother’s bar, and Guan Shan’s not drunk enough to deal with it.

He pulls up a chair.

'You are broken,’ he says glibly. 'And you are fuckin’ heartless.’ He Tian lifts his head, and there’s a pang of hurt there, a flare of shock like cutting his hand on a kitchen knife. 'And you never fuckin’ apologise, or ask yourself _why_ you’re like that.’ Guan Shan reaches over the bar and snags a clean glass, helping himself to He Tian’s bottle. 'And you know what? I’ve stopped expectin’ you to. I’ve stopped waitin’ for it. I told myself it was never gonna happen 'cause this is just who you _are._ And it was make or break for me. Did I want to stay knowin’ it was always gonna be like this? Asked myself that for fuckin’ months. And you know what, He Tian?’

He Tian’s staring at him. His eyes are dark as oil spills, his skin pasty and hair stuck to his temples with sweat. Strangled, throaty with too much liquor, he asks, _'What?’_

Guan Shan takes his moment to swallow the _baijiu_ , clenches his teeth to deepen the throbbing in his gums. He sets his cup back down with a crack.

'I decided I was gonna have to live with it,’ he bites out. 'You could do me the fuckin’ courtesy of livin’ with it too.’


	2. baggage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan. Childhood trauma.

‘Childhood trauma—’

'Boring.’

'Gun violence—’

'Next.’

'Kidnappin'—’

'Fucking hell,’ He Tian mutters, swinging his feet up to rest on the edge of the coffee table, ankles crossed. 'Are we scrolling Netflix or tagging themes to our autobiographies?’

Guan Shan throws him the remote and reaches for his beer. 'You choose,’ he says, taking a swig. 'Since you’re so fuckin’ hard to please.’

He Tian takes the remote and clicks through genres, running his tongue over his teeth. Guan Shan watches him from the corner of his eye. Action, comedy, K-drama—

’D'you really think that?’

He Tian raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t look away from the screen. _Click, click, click._ 'Think what?’

Guan Shan says, 'That you’ve got childhood trauma?’

He Tian pauses. He sets the remote down, sets both hands around the beer bottle and leans his head back against the sofa, neck exposed, pulse jumping in his throat.

'What else would you call it, Guan Shan?’ he asks, sounding tired. 'The maids carried guns. We had a _safe room_.’

'Yeah, but—’

'I found my mother in the bath with her throat slit, Guan Shan.’

Guan Shan goes still. His tongue clicks against the back of his throat when he swallows; the image hits him behind his eyelids when he blinks.

'It was everywhere,’ He Tian murmurs. 'Never found out if she drowned in the water or on her own blood.’

_Fuck._

'You never told me,’ is all Guan Shan can say.

'You’ve got your own baggage,’ He Tian says, dismissive. He sets his bottle back down, goes back to scrolling, his smile shuttered. 'I didn’t want you to have to deal with mine too.’


	3. blood money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / "You really don't wanna know."

‘You really don’t wanna know,’ He Tian tells him. He tugs the bills from the duffel, all red faces, a rubber band laced around each grand, lets them smack against the marble surface of the kitchen counters. Guan Shan counts thirty.

‘I do,’ he says, staring. ‘I do wanna know. You said we were _out_ of this.’

He Tian throws the duffel to the floor, drags a hand through his hair. It’s getting too long, tendrils bowing around the side of his face. He flicks his fingers in Guan Shan’s direction, grabs a clean glass from the cupboard and a jug of filtered water from the fridge. 

Pouring, he says, ‘I said I would try.’

Guan Shan puts his hand on a stack. It feels warm. He Tian still hasn’t looked him in the eye. 

‘Try…’ Guan Shan whispers. ‘You can’t fuckin’ help yourself.’ 

He Tian drinks, swallows, sets the glass down. He smacks his lips. ‘What?’

‘You,’ says Guan Shan, louder. ‘You cannot _fucking_ help yourself.’

He snatches a stack of bills from the table—hurls it across the kitchen. 

It smacks against He Tian’s half-empty glass of water, propels it to the floor. Glass smashes, and water blooms across the floorboards. 

The money starts to soak. 

Guan Shan _burns_. ‘Just because _you_ want this life doesn’t mean you have the fuckin’ right to make me have it too!’ 

His chest heaves, and he grips another stack in his hand. They’ve had years of this, day-jobs that roll into weeks. Roll into months. Three-sixty-five days of dirty money and blood under their fingernails and a promise that each one will be the last.

Guan Shan gets it now. This isn’t about the money. It’s the thrill; it’s the fear of life when it ends.


	4. hydro-fuckin'-flouric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / "Why the fuck do you smell like that?"

‘Get the fuck off me!’ Guan Shan cried. ‘Why the fuck do you _smell_ like that?’

‘I had to clean up a mess,’ He Tian said, crawling onto the bed, pawing at Guan Shan’s skin. ‘Come on, let me just—’

Guan Shan kicked him, a heel in the base of He Tian’s spine. ‘Out,’ he demanded. ‘Go get in the fuckin’ shower. I just washed these sheets.’

‘Darling, you’re killing me,’ He Tian protested. He reached over, tugged on a tuft of red hair, trailed fingers along his neck. ‘It’s not _that_ bad.’

‘It’s hydro-fuckin’-flouric _acid_ ,’ Guan Shan remarked, resisting a shudder and smacking He Tian’s hands away. There was a struggle, a brief battle of wrists and feet and flailing hands, bucking at each other with a war of limbs. It ended the way it usually did: hands pinned against the pillows, Guan Shan’s knee drawn up between He Tian’s thighs.

‘Does that turn you on?’ He Tian murmured.

Guan Shan glared up at him, breathed through his mouth. He shifted his knee until he heard an intake of breath. 

‘Get in the fuckin’ shower,’ he murmured quietly. ‘Or I’ll clean you up myself.’


	5. how to lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / "So, are we? A 'thing'?"

‘So are we?’ Guan Shan asks. ‘A thing?’

'For all intents and purposes of this dinner, yes.’

Guan Shan shakes his head, sitting on the end of He Tian’s bed. 'You hate the guy that much?’ he asks. 'Makin' him think you’re a homo is the best way to get back at him?’

He Tian’s smile is sharkish. He adjusts his tie in the mirror, stares himself in the eye. His look is well-practiced, a careful rehearsal, and it makes Guan Shan feel cold.

'Nothing would make his skin crawl more,’ He Tian tells him. He motions Guan Shan over, and Guan Shan grumbles as he gets to his feet, shuffles over until he’s at He Tian’s side. They stare at each other in the mirror, black and red like a chequerboard, strangers in their suits. 

He Tian says, 'It’s perfect.’

Guan Shan thinks, _I don’t need the money this fucking much._

‘What if he finds out?’ he asks. ‘That we’re pretendin’?’

He Tian smiles, wraps an arm around Guan Shan’s shoulder, holds the back of Guan Shan’s neck in the palm of his hand. His thumb presses into the juncture of Guan Shan’s spine. 

‘He won’t,’ He Tian says, in a way that sounds like a promise. ‘He taught me well how to lie.’


	6. the door's unlocked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / "Are you afraid of intimacy? Of being close to me?"

‘Are you afraid of intimacy? Of being close to me?’

Guan Shan sighed. He Tian was drunk, mumbling through the intercom. The CCTV showed him slumped against the wall, grainy and black-and-white, porch light washing him paler than usual. Dark shadows like bruises under his eyes. Three weeks and four days of nothingness, and Guan Shan got this, kicking him in the belly every night until he bled out with an expectation to wake up in the morning. 

‘I’m not afraid,’ Guan Shan told him quietly, instead of a _Where the fuck have you been?_ ‘Just ‘cause I don’t want it _—_ it doesn’t mean I’m afraid, all right?’

‘I just wanna touch you, you know?’ He Tian murmured. ‘Just want to _—_ just wanna put my hands on you. You’re always so cold t’me.’

Guan Shan pinched his brow between forefinger and thumb. He jammed a finger against the speaker. 

‘Because you wanna touch me when I don’t want it. Maybe if you _asked_ once in a while _—_ ’

‘I’m asking, Mo Guan Shan,’ He Tian moaned. ‘I’m _begging.’_

 _Fucking hell,_ Guan Shan thought, tired-sounding even in his head. He was still in his chef’s whites, a bottle of beer sitting cold from the fridge on his bedside. He watched He Tian for a few minutes, heard his laboured breathing. One of the richest, most dangerous men in China _—_ falling asleep on Guan Shan’s fucking doorstep. 

A glass of water, a couple of paracetamol, sheets folded over the sofa. Guan Shan shook his head. That’s all he was letting him up for. He pressed the speaker button again.

‘Come up, you fuckin’ drunk,’ Guan Shan sighed. ‘The door’s unlocked.’


	7. thick as shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / historical au (first kiss?), 'how sweet and lovely doth thou make the shame' shakespeare’s sonnet 95

‘I’m marryin’ her in the morning,’ Guan Shan said, pushing him away. ‘There’s nothin’ you can do.’

‘There’s everything,’ He Tian countered, stalking him to the opposite wall, lamplight flickering lowly, shadows playing on their faces. ‘I could kill her.’

Guan Shan’s hand stilled on the dresser, and then he pulled a green tunic from the drawers. He tugged the _yi_ over his head with a rough jerk, fabric falling to his knees, his calves bare.

‘Of course,’ he said sourly. ‘Because one look at your face and people give you nothin’ but fuckin’ praise.’ His lip curled. ‘As if a young man like _He Tian_ could ever be capable of it.’

‘Capable but never culpable,’ He Tian said, well-rehearsed. ‘Isn’t that why you invited me? Please. A three-day ride just to see you marry some rich man’s daughter out of, what, _obligation?_ Say the word, and I’ll handle it. No one will suspect me of a thing.’

He turned to face He Tian, half-dressed. While his jaw squared, teeth clenched, He Tian reached around him. He plucked an emerald green sash from the dresser drawer and looped it around Guan Shan’s waist. His expression was serene, a careful veil of loveliness, treachery underneath.

‘You need to be more careful,’ Guan Shan said, voice low, while He Tian’s fingers worked deftly at his waist. ‘Rely on your name and looks for too long and they’ll lose their edge.’

He Tian arched an eyebrow. ‘They’ve always worked on you, haven’t they?’

Guan Shan only shook his head. ‘You’re not gonna kill her. Even you’re not that fuckin’ heartless.’

‘Give me one reason why I shouldn’t.’

How simple. He Tian already had him tethered at the waist, and it was little effort to meet him at his lips, warm and half-parted. He tasted sour-sweet, dark as tobacco, and Guan Shan let He Tian put a hand on his bare thigh, let He Tian breathe him down like smoke, sweet and lovely and thick as shame.


	8. handler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / "Those three words. Let me hear you say it."

‘Three words,’ says He Tian. ‘Let me hear you say them. Just once.’ 

Guan Shan lifts his eyebrows. He presses the speaker button on his headset. ‘How’s this: _Get over yourself._ ’

He Tian makes an indignant sound on the other end of the line, and on the screens in front of him, Guan Shan watches He Tian turn a street corner on the CCTV feed he’s tapped into. His look is pained, coloured with a reluctant grin that pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

‘That hurts me, you know?’ He Tian tells him. ‘I should make you pay for it.’

‘I’m your handler. I fuckin’ _give_ you your pay,’ Guan Shan reminds him. He tracks He Tian as the courier crosses the street and approaches the warehouse with staggered confidence. ‘You’re not makin’ me pay for nothin’.’

‘At least admit that you’d be bored if I wasn’t around,’ He Tian presses. He pauses halfway across the street, assesses his entrances, reviews the blueprint Guan Shan had sent to his phone an hour ago. ‘Who else would whisper sweet nothings in your ear?’

‘I’d welcome the radio silence,’ Guan Shan mutters. ‘And pay attention, fucker. I want you in and out of that warehouse in three minutes with the package in your hands.’

A grin splits across He Tian’s face. He leans himself beside the black entrance of the warehouse, reaches for the gun in his waistband, stares straight up at the CCTV camera above him, and presses two fingers to his earpiece. 

He says, ‘I could be in and out of you in more.’


	9. you and me: we were worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He Cheng x Qiu / "Were you like than when you were their age?"

‘Were you like that when you were their age?’

He Cheng raises an eyebrow at him. 'You don’t remember?’ he asks. He shrugs off his jacket and folds it over the picnic bench. 'You and me—we were worse.’

Qiu looks at the four of them, half-fighting, half-laughing, hair wet with sea spray and cheeks flushed with sunburn. He tries to remember He Cheng that young—tries to see him in his younger brother, dark-eyed and smirking.

It’s there, tenuously, but his smile was never so wicked.

'You sure about that, He Cheng?’ Qiu asks sceptically.

He Cheng follows his gaze, watches them for a minute. 'That kid’s still smiling,’ he says. 'Yes, I’m sure.’

He leans back, the picnic table digging into his spine, arms folded, and Qiu wonders if He Cheng resents the scene. Resents their happiness, their barbed playfulness. They’re not innocent—not quite naïve—but they’re comparatively close to it. Just enough of a halcyon glow to make Qiu feel bitter and old.

'What happened to us?’ Qiu asks, watching He Tian wrestle the redheaded kid to the ground. They collide against the sand with a thud. 'Why are they different?’

He Cheng shrugs, rolling up the cuffs on his shirt, the veins in his forearms bared. 'Because we try and hide them from it all,’ he says eventually. 'And they get to stay kids.’

Qiu considers it. The sun beats down on them, and he’s sweating in his dark shirt. Gulls caw above in the blue skies. The redheaded kid has He Tian’s cheek pressed into the sand, darkly triumphant, and Jian Yi cheers from the water, waist-high into the ocean.

'They won’t always be,’ Qiu tells him. 'They’ll grow up one day. You can see it happening.’

He Cheng hums in agreement and lights up a cigarette, and Qiu knows he’s already seen it. The darkness in them, something scorned that looms closer as their bones grow and their skin stretches. Something that draws back their cheekbones and makes their boyish glances shrewd. Something Qiu doesn’t want them to live with.

'I see it, Qiu,’ says He Cheng, squinting against the sunlight. Smoke seeps out between his lips. When he’s finished, he grinds out the cigarette into the sand. 'I see all of it.’


	10. sitting duck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / he tian wounded in a gunfight - "you look like you're about to puke" "fucking stop talking" "why? think I'll die faster that way?"

‘You look like you’re about to puke.’

‘Just—stop fuckin’ talkin’, would ya?’

‘Why?’ He Tian says. His smile is grim, and blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, a thin red vein already clotting against his skin. ‘Think I’ll die faster that way?’

Guan Shan grits his teeth, pressing firmer on the wound. ‘No,’ he bites out. ‘I think I’ll kill you my fuckin’ self if I have to hear another word outta your stupid mouth.’

‘You’re cute when you’re—’ A startled cough, spittle flying. A fleck of blood hits Guan Shan on the cheek. They look at each other, startled, and then He Tian collapses back against the wall, exhausted. ‘—angry,’ he finishes weakly. 

Guan Shan can’t clench his teeth hard enough, feels the enamel start to give way as he grinds, gums pulsing. There’s too much blood, his white shirt soaked crimson as he balls it tightly against the wound, seeping through like spilled tea and staining Guan Shan’s fingers red. 

There’s too much blood.

‘He Tian, I—’ Guan Shan squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head minutely. ‘I need to get you to a fuckin’ hospital. I can’t fix this. You’re losin’ too much.’

He Tian’s breathing is laboured, but he smiles anyway, presses his own hands onto Guan Shan’s, holds the fabric tight. Blood is starting to congeal beneath his nails, and Guan Shan realises that He Tian is going to die.

‘Sure you can,’ He Tian rasps. ‘But no hospitals, alright? They’ll kill me there. I’ll be a sitting duck—’

‘You’ll die either way, you bastard,’ Guan Shan says fiercely. He presses until He Tian winces, and a small part of him is glad for it. _Good. Let it hurt. Feel like I do._ ‘Don’t give up without a fuckin’ fight, you hear me?’

He Tian closes his eyes. He swallows wetly, splutters against the blood creeping into his lungs. Softly: ‘I don’t care. I don’t care if I die. If we go there—they’ll kill you, too.’


	11. congratulations. my dad's an asshole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / he tian crying visibly with mo guan shan present

Guan Shan pants as he slams the bathroom door shut. The footsteps race after him down the hallway, past the chemistry labs and towards the history department, pounding against the linoleum, growing louder and louder—and then quieter. Past the staff bathroom and down the hall. Out the doors towards the basketball courts. 

Guan Shan’s lost them. 

He puts his head against the door for a second, breathes in deep, and then goes still. Behind him, water is running. He turns.

‘Aw, _shit_ —’ he starts, ready for He Tian’s dry commentary. Ready for him to come close and take advantage of the prey in his net. But something stops him. He Tian has a hand curled around the edge of the sink, and his eyelashes are wet. Dark eyes red-rimmed. He hasn’t made a move—hasn’t made a sound, and there’s a flash of grim embarrassment on his face that Guan Shan can’t mistake.

_What the fuck._

‘Are you _cryin_ ’?’ he blurts, dumbfounded.

He Tian flashes him a dark grin, barbed and sharkish. ‘Please,’ he says, but the thickness in his voice betrays him. He turns the tap off with a sharp gesture and Guan Shan marks the wad of wet tissues in the sink. There’s a first aid kit opened and pillaged on the hand towel dispenser.

‘You’re _cryin_ ’. You’re seriously—’ Guan Shan breaks off. ‘What the fuck happened to _you_?’

He Tian rolls his eyes and sniffs. He wipes his nose in his shirt sleeve. ‘I’m trying to clean this out. I think it’s getting infected.’ He Tian peels his t-shirt from his abdomen, and he hisses as the fabric tears away, wincing. ‘Hurts like a son of a bitch.’ 

Guan Shan recoils from the wound He Tian lays bare, and then he stops himself, makes himself look. He Tian’s right—it’s red and seeping, some kind of gouge or stabbing gone untreated, the skin inflamed, no healthy scab. Guan Shan wants less to know how he got and more who could’ve even gotten close. 

‘You, uh, you need to put some peroxide on that shit,’ Guan Shan says, breathing through his mouth, cringing. He takes a step closer, nods towards the first aid kit. ‘Clean it out and let it dry before you dress it. You’ll get all kinds of shit in that otherwise.’ He Tian’s looking at him strangely, and Guan Shan jerks his chin at him, dismissive. ‘My mom’s a nurse.’

‘Congratulations. My dad’s an asshole.’

Guan Shan hesitates. ‘Is he the one that did that?’

He Tian catches his own reflection in the mirror, stares at himself for a moment before his gaze lowers. ‘May as well have,’ he mutters. 

Guan Shan hums. ‘And what are you gonna do to him?’

Maybe it’s the way he says it, or maybe it’s the words themselves. Whatever it is, He Tian takes him in like there’s something worth seeing—and he beams.


	12. that's a firecracker, that one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / He Tian thinking about his feelings for Guan Shan

‘Who’s that?’ Xiao Jun asks him, plopping down on a crate beside him. The motions stirs dust and sand up beneath his boots, and He Tian waits for it to settle. 

He smooths his thumb over the photo, ink fading from the motion, edges curling and yellowed, and folds it back into his breast pocket. It feels warm there where it sits, and He Tian worries more about getting blood on it than he does about getting shot.

‘Someone from home,’ he says eventually. 

Xiao Jun makes a _huh_ sound, and rips off the cellophane from a new packet of Haomao’s. He offers He Tian the first pick, and He Tian lights up for the both of them with a Zippo that’s running low on lighter fluid. 

‘We’ve all got one of them,’ Xiao Jun says, using his cigarette as a pointer in He Tian’s direction. ‘Couldn’t get through this place sane without one.’

‘Is that so,’ He Tian says. He breathes out smoke upwards like the trails of a bonfire or a building set alight. ‘Who’s yours?’

Xiao Jun leans back, and a look comes over his face. Wistful, wanting, caught in the net of a daydream.

‘My wife,’ he says. ‘She’s a businesswoman in Shanghai. Rides my dick like a fucking porn star, I swear. Fuck, I love her.’ He shakes his head. ‘She wants like, four kids. Who am I to say no, you know?’

He Tian raises his eyebrows. ‘Someone who’s never going to have to raise them?’ 

A Chinook flies overhead, the heavy thrum of chopper blades drowning out Xiao Jun’s crackling laughter. They would have ducked, once. Shied away from the sound, the way the ground shook like an earthquake splitting apart the desert. Now it’s background noise, radio chatter set to low volume.

‘You’re a cruel fuck,’ says Xiao Jun, a touch of malice, but he kicks his boot against He Tian’s, and He Tian knows it’s just this place in him talking. The heat, the sweat, the blood, the sand in their beds and guns at their bedside, bombs like fireworks at night. ‘I’ve shown you mine,’ he continues, nodding towards the place where He Tian’s sequestered the photo. ‘You gonna show me yours?’

He Tian shrugs, ‘Never made a deal, did we?’

‘Aw, come on,’ Xiao Jun admonishes. ‘No deals here. Just duty.’

He Tian rolls his eyes, but he finds himself digging back through his pocket anyway. He touches the edges of it—still warm—and pulls it out. 

Immediately, Xiao Jun leans in close, eyes squinting, the cigarette propped between his lips. He scrutinises the photo for a moment, and then his eyebrows lift. ‘That’s a firecracker, that one.’

He Tian doesn’t ask him how he can tell. It’s painted in the ink; Guan Shan’s expression caught between scowl and smile, just at the turn of sentiment like a flower ready to bloom—fruit about to spoil. Dark skies frame him, rain like TV static, face caught in the glow of a shop front window, the photo taken before he could say no.

‘You talk?’ Xiao Jun asks. ‘Write letters?’

He Tian blows cigarette ash off the photo before it can spark, and grinds the butt out beneath his boot.

‘He doesn’t know I’m here.’

Xiao Jun stares at him for a moment. He leans away, shaking his head. ‘Ah, shit, man… He’s gonna be pissed as shit when you get home.’

The photo goes back in its place, and He Tian motions for another cigarette, which Xiao Jun gladly supplies. The heat of tobacco and nicotine in his mouth once more, He Tian says, ‘I’m counting on it.’


	13. face like thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / "For fuck's sake would you stop making that face?"

‘For fuck’s sake. Would you just—would you stop makin' that face?’

‘What face?’ He Tian murmurs, smiling, chin propped in his hand.

‘That face that says you wanna _fuck_ me.’

He Tian lifts his eyebrows. ‘But I do.’

Guan Shan glares at him. ‘We’re in public. I’m still—’ His voice drops, and he leans close. ‘I still can’t walk straight, you ass. It _hurts_.’

He Tian’s expression twists, a flash of anger, a sharp baring of teeth. ‘I asked you. You didn’t want me to stop. You _liked_ it.’

Guan Shan nearly throws his latte, still hot, in He Tian’s face. He had liked it—He Tian’s hands digging into his shoulders, the sweat on his back, his cheek pressed into the sheets, the countertop in the kitchen, the bathroom sink— 

‘I can be gentler, if you want,’ says He Tian. He sips at his coffee. A modest lift of his shoulder. ‘Next time.’

Guan Shan glowers. He puts his arms on the wooden bar overlooking the street below the café, the glass fogged up from cold. ‘That’s fuckin’ presumptuous.’ 

He Tian picks up the shortbread cookie on the side of his saucer, and points it in Guan Shan’s direction. ‘What’s presumptuous is you thinking you don’t want it to hurt.’ His voice is too loud, carries like bonfire smoke on a cold night and settles just as thick. He bites into the biscuit and says, chewing: ‘You like how it stays with you, don’t you? A reminder. A little something to think of me.’ The asshole _winks_. 

‘I’ll give you a fuckin’ reminder in a second,’ Guan Shan mutters. ‘And drink your fuckin’ coffee. I wanna go home.’

‘So surly,’ He Tian chides. He reaches over, brushes a finger across Guan Shan’s jawline, feather-like. ‘Face like thunder.’

Guan Shan shrugs him away and pulls his coat from the back of his chair while he gets to his feet, downing the last of his coffee, tongue burning slightly. He wraps a scarf tight around his throat and shoves his hands into his pockets. 

‘Are you comin’ or not?’ Guan Shan says, impatient.

He Tian cocks his head. ‘What are we doing?’

Guan Shan levels him with a look. ‘What do you think?’ he asks. ‘It’s your turn now.’


	14. silicon fucking valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / “I have a right to be worried. We are practically married!”

‘I have a right to be worried!’ Jian Yi cried. ‘We’re practically married!’

He Tian put his head in his hands. ‘Jian Yi. For the thousandth fucking time—Zhengxi _isn’t_ cheating on you. He’s working on computers. At his job. It’s what he _does_.’

‘And he can’t call me? Or answer my texts?’

He Tian lifted his head and gave him a look. Flatly: ‘He answered them. All the way from Silicon fucking Valley.’

Jian Yi jabbed a finger in his direction. ‘A thumbs up emoji is _not_ a text. I haven’t seen his face in _days._ I’m—I think I’m starting to forget what his voice even sounds like.’

He Tian’s eyes lifted towards the ceiling. ‘Oh, for the love of—’ He straightened. ‘Sit your flat ass down, Jian Yi,’ He Tian ordered. He hooked his foot around the edge of the stool beside him and dragged it out, steel scraping against the cream tiling in Jian Yi’s kitchen. ‘You need a drink—and a cigarette.’

Jian Yi complied. He slumped down on to the barstool and dragged over a glass, then reached for the bottle of whisky standing on a chrome tray full of liquor. bottle. He Tian lit him a cigarette, watched him cough and splutter through the first few inhales. He gave Jian Yi a few pats between the shoulder blades once he was sniffing, eyes red-rimmed, halfway through his whisky. 

‘Don’t you ever, you know, worry about Guan Shan?’

He Tian shrugged. ‘We’re not married.’

‘You’re fucking obsessed with each other,’ Jian Yi remarked, rolling his eyes. ‘You don’t need a license for that.’

‘Neither do you,’ said He Tian, eyebrows raised, lighting his own cigarette. ‘Hey, when did you get so fucking insecure?’ This wasn’t the guy he remembered, sun shining out his ass and a mouth running at a hundred miles an hour.

Jian Yi pulled a face that was starkly Guan Shan-esque, all eyebrows and a sour, surly mouth. ‘Says someone who’s never had a lapse of confidence in his whole fucking life.’

He Tian exhaled, smoke whirling around the kitchen. ‘If Guan Shan wants to fuck someone else, he can fuck someone else. If he wants to kiss someone else, then—you get the picture. If he wants to do anything with anyone that isn’t me, then I guess he’s not meant for me.’

‘So…’ Jian Yi cast him a glance touched with nervousness. He’d stopped smoking his cigarette, left it abandoned and burning down to this knuckles. ‘You live your life waiting for Guan Shan to leave?’

He Tian huffed a laugh, flicking his fingers. Jian Yi slid a glass ashtray across the counter top obligingly, and He Tian ground his cigarette out with his thumbnail. 

‘I live,’ he started, ‘being thankful as fuck that he still doesn’t realise there’s someone out there a thousand times better than I am.’ He paused. ‘Better _for_ him than I am.’

‘Huh,’ said Jian Yi. He leaned back slightly, arms stretched, and looked at something through the window that He Tian couldn’t see. A small moment of revelation, of pieces clicking into place. Acceptance. ‘So much for that unwavering self-confidence.’ 


	15. just in case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / He Tian blushing

‘The number one rule of a fuckin’ forest is not to walk in it a night,’ Guan Shan grumbles.

Leaves crunch under foot; He Tian’s boot slips in mud as they climb a slope, and he catches himself on a moss-covered branch, slick to the touch, his heart picking up tempo. One wrong step and he could break an ankle. Two wrong steps and he could break his neck. 

‘Don’t worry,’ He Tian tells him, voice carrying through the damp. ‘I’ll keep you warm.’

He can see Guan Shan’s scowl over his shoulder, the furrow of his brow casting shadows on his cheekbones. He’s a fast walker, a good hiker, feet quick and thighs strong as they gain elevation. The river is somewhere to their right, a thousand feet below, and all He Tian can hear is their breathing and bracken beneath their boots. 

‘The sun set twenty minutes ago,’ Guan Shan says. ‘We need to find shelter and dry wood. There are wolves in these woods.’

‘I can deal with them,’ He Tian says. He pats the knife at his belt with a confident smack. ‘Just in case.’

‘Not with a pack, you fuckin’ couldn’t.’

He Tian shrugs off his surliness and they stalk onward in silence. It’s dark within the hour, moonlight leaking through the gaps in the trees like speckled stars on the ground, and He Tian can feel cold seeping beneath his clothes. There are wolves howling into the air by the time they reach shelter, a half-collapsed cavern with the remnants of a fire, ash and burnt-down logs.

‘We’ll stay here for the night,’ Guan Shan says, shrugging off his coats. ‘Can’t go any further in these fuckin’ conditions. I’ll take you back to your town in the morning.’

He Tian nods and lowers himself cross-legged to the ground, shucking his boots off, sodden with rain and mud. He watches Guan Shan move about the cavern, stripping off his layers and wandering in and out, bundles of firewood in his hands.

‘How do you know so much about this place?’ He Tian asks him when he next enters, throwing down a bundle of wood into the centre at He Tian’s feet. ‘About these woods?’

‘How d’you know so fuckin’ much about your little town?’ Guan Shan counters. ‘About—what d’you call it—politics?’

He Tian chuckles. ‘I don’t. Wouldn’t be running away into the forest if I did, would I?’ He settles into silence, waits for Guan Shan to leave, come back, flint and a bundle of moss in hand, then repeats, ‘Seriously, though. How do you know?’

Guan Shan kneels down near He Tian’s feet, works at the fire for a few moments before sparks catch, then blows gently into the moss. Smoke clouds and blooms, and a pillar of flames jumps into being, wet wood crackling in the silence. 

He Tian watches quietly as the fire spits, shadows jumping across the walls of the cavern, and then as Guan Shan pulls at the hem of his linen shirt—and over his head. 

He Tian stares.

‘You asked,’ says Guan Shan, stripping off his gloves. ‘Don’t need to blush like a fuckin’ virgin for it.’

He Tian can’t help it, feels the heat of the flames and something else that licks warmly at his cheeks. He doesn’t know what he expected—but it’s not this. Guan Shan’s skin is a network of black lines and scribbles, words He Tian can’t read and drawings he can’t understand. Shoulders curved with tattooed paths they’d walked and ribs traced with the river, fingers webbed with constellations.

He Tian gets to his feet. ‘Your skin—’

‘It’s a map,’ says Guan Shan. He lifts his eyebrows. ‘Just in case.’


	16. coffee shop au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / 'coffee shop AU, but He Tian is the barista (he's doing it bc he's bored idk) and Mo is a regular customer bc the coffee it's cheap or he can focus better there (has a scolarship to maintain okay).'

‘Coffee. Black. Me—’

'Medium. No sugar, I know.’ He Tian shrugs at the strange look he’s met with. 'You’re hard to forget.’

The redhead scrutinises him from across the counter, eyes flitting to He Tian’s name badge, and taps his card against the reader. 'Or easy to remember,’ he says.

He Tian smirks. 'Pessimistic. Nice. Take a seat, and I’ll be right over.’

The man only shakes his head, mouth twisting, and hulks away to the back corner of the café. He sets his back to the wall, plugs in his laptop charger into the nearest port. A floor lamp curves over him, sets his hair to a shine like golden twine.

It takes forty-three seconds to pour the coffee, twenty of which He Tian spends luxuriating in watching him. Same seat, same order, same shuttered expression. He Tian looks at the redhead like an enigma he quite desperately wants to unwrap.

'I made you a large,’ He Tian says when he sets the cup down in front of him. 'On the house.’

The man looks at it suspiciously. 'Didn’t think mega corporations did favours.’

'I’m at liberty to do so,’ He Tian tells him. He eyes the book on Mao Zedong on the table. A PoliSci student? 'I’ll take it out of my paycheck if that makes your libertarian heart feel any better.’

Despite himself, Black Coffee No Sugar huffs a laugh, a bitter little thing, and He Tian feels something in him _thrum_. 'Nah, you seem like the kinda guy who’d hold that over me til he’s in his fuckin’ grave. I’d have to go to a different shop again.’

 _Again?_ He Tian thinks, but doesn’t question further. There are customers waiting at the counter, but He Tian has one more thing to ask: 'And what made you choose this one?’

The guy sticks his thumb in his cheek, thoughtful, then shrugs. 'Free upgrades,’ he says decisively, leaning back. 'For the foreseeable future.’

'Is that so?’ He Tian asks, grinning, a small delight that his game for two is finally being played. 'And what do I get in return?’

He waits while the guy blows on his coffee, takes a sip, then scribbles on the corner of a notebook. The tear of paper is loud, and He Tian takes the scrap with a bubbling feeling between his ribs.

'Think this’ll do for now, don’t you?’ says Mo Guan Shan, eyebrows raised, his look bordering on hostile.

He Tian rubs his thumb over the scrawled name and number, and his smile is wholly self-indulgent. He does—he really, really does.


	17. hey, angel, think i'll make it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / First time Guan Shan gives He Tian a present (or something meaningful).
> 
> (TW: Implied suicide attempt.)

‘Are you—fuck, are you an angel?’

Someone snickers in the background—’An angel.’—and the ambulance shakes as they veer round a corner. He Tian can’t look away. 

‘I’m a paramedic,’ the man grunts, snapping He Tian’s oxygen mask back into place. ‘Which is probably the closest thing given your fuckin’ situation.’

‘Language!’ someone shouts from the driver’s seat.

The redhead rolls his eyes. They’re russet. Ochre. An almost-mauve. Really, they’re like rust and the dried blood coating He Tian’s skin, but he can’t think of anything more beautiful right now. The man had said his name earlier, introducing himself as they scraped He Tian off the tarmac and left his mangled bike cordoned off by police tape, and now He Tian wishes he’d paid more attention to the rush of syllables that had tripped off the man’s tongue.

‘He’s high as hell on morphine, Zhan Zhengxi,’ says the paramedic to the driver. There are studs in his ears, little flecks of diamond. ‘He doesn’t give a shit what comes outta my mouth.’

‘He will when he sobers,’ the driver warns.

_I won’t. Keep talking, please._

The paramedic shrugs him off, checking He Tian’s vitals, the bags of saline and blood that sway with the vehicle, the numbers on the ECG. He Tian’s eyes roll to the white lines that shift up and down on the screen, the little heart that pulses on and off. There’s a needle in the back of his hand, the slightest ache in his veins. He’s surprised he can feel that and not the fractured dent the paramedic said is in his skull or the shard of rib sticking through his left lung.

‘Hey,’ he says, tugging off the mask again. ‘Hey.’

The paramedic glances at him from the bench seat adjacent to the trolley. ‘What?’ he says. He frowns at the mask. ‘You really shouldn’t be talkin’.’

‘Probably not,’ He Tian says, breath rattling. _Never paid much attention to shoulds and shouldn’ts._ ‘Hey, angel, you think I’ll make it?’

The paramedic considers him, not answering for a few moments. ‘You crashed your bike into a wall at two-hundred kilometres an hour, Mr He. If you’re not dead now…’ He clicks his tongue. ‘Well, you’re probably gonna live this one out.’

‘Well, shit,’ He Tian sighs. He can’t move his head, kept still in the brace, but he lifts his eyes to the roof of the ambulance. He can feel the wheels slowing now, the engine rumbling in a low gear. They must be close to the hospital. 

‘Was that the plan?’ the paramedic asks cautiously.

‘Was what the plan?’ He Tian mutters. 

‘To not. Live it out, I mean.’

He Tian doesn’t answer, and the ambulance comes to a stop. Suddenly, the doors are opened up by hospital staff, and the paramedic is getting to his feet. He hands over a clipboard to one of the waiting medics as they lift He Tian out the ambulance and get him on a rolling gurney, and he starts spouting vitals out as they rush him towards the hospital doors. He Tian stares at the ceiling—a fast swarm of speckled white panels, LED strip lights, three neon fire exit signs—and then the paramedic’s peering over into his line of vision, keeping pace. 

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘They’re gonna prep you for surgery. Get the skull and lung of yours fixed up. You’ll be out of it in a couple minutes.’

Something in it makes He Tian panic, the first flare of something he’s felt since he tugged at the throttle and didn’t let go. Suddenly, the man’s name comes to him. Guan Shan. Mo Guan Shan. He Tian trembles.

‘Are you leaving?’ he asks, hand scrabbling for purchase. He finds the cold metal frame of the trolley they’ve got him on, so fucking cold, and then—warm. 

‘I’ve got to,’ Mo Guan Shan says. He’s not looking at He Tian’s eyes, something strange on his face. He’s looking at their joined hands—He Tian knows it, and wishes he could see them too. ‘This is my job. Other people to save, y’know?’

Disappointment pangs deeper than any broken rib. 

They’re pushing through another set of doors now, and Guan Shan has let him go. It takes He Tian longer than it should for him to realise there’s something in his palm—something small, slightly sharp, another needle?—and the anaesthetic is pulling him under fast.

‘Look after it for me ‘til you’re done, alright?’ Guan Shan calls out, standing still at the doors towards the surgery theatre. His face is the last thing He Tian sees before the darkness—and He Tian realises he’s missing an earring. 


	18. shared cigarettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / 'He Tian learning about past MoxSheLi relationship and way of dealing with it. it could be a past toxic/abusive one and mo tells him (being vulnerable) or a an intense/recent one and He Tian acts insecure or jealous'

‘Are you ever gonna tell me what happened between you two?’ He Tian asks. ‘I feel like I have a right to know.’

Guan Shan shakes his head, holds himself up against the wall until the rough bricks press into the base of his skull. He sees a flash of silver on the back of his eyelids when he blinks, closes his eyes, takes a moment to stop himself from shaking. 

Can’t he have one night? One fucking night where he doesn’t turn a street corner or walk up to a bar and have his heart drop to his fucking balls? Doesn’t need a wall to keep him up, an hour locked in a bathroom and cold water on the back of his neck. Doesn’t have the welling shame of meeting his own eyes in the mirror.

‘I’ve told you what you need to know,’ Guan Shan says. ‘I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.’

He can see He Tian’s jaw working, a vein jumping in his forearms as he folds them across his chest. There’s a foot between them, too close and not far enough, and He Tian’s shadow falls over Guan Shan like an eclipse. The music is quieter out here, a stairwell away from the bar where people stomp drunkenly up and down the steps, voices piercingly loud, words slurred. Guan Shan doesn’t notice them, bass thrumming through the soles of his shoes, through his fingertips biting into the wall.

‘I want to hear it,’ He Tian says. ‘It worries me. _You_ worry me when that bastard’s around. Something’s not right.’

Guan Shan’s jaw clenches. There’s liquor on his breath, throat sore from too many shots and shared cigarettes. ‘I told you—’

‘Do I need to talk to him again?’ He Tian says, voice low. ‘I’ll fucking gut him for you. You know I will.’

‘ _No_ ,’ Guan Shan says fiercely. ‘I don’t want you gettin’ involved again.’

He Tian’s eyes are narrowed, flickering back and forth, digging for something like a dog with a blood scent who won’t stop until there’s bone and sinew between his teeth. A headache is pulsing between Guan Shan’s eyes, a storm rolling in.

‘Is there—’ He Tian stops. Something flashes across his face. ‘Is this something _between you_? _Now?’_

Guan Shan stares at him, cheeks starting to burn. ‘Fuckin’ _what?_ ’ he seethes. You’re _kiddin’_ me, right? You’re fuckin’ kiddin’.’ He shakes his head. ‘The guy’s a goddamn sociopath who can’t feel pain. You think I _want_ somethin’ with someone like that?’

He Tian says, flatly, ‘You used to.’

‘You—’ Guan Shan stops. ‘Have you heard _anythin’_ I’ve said to you about him? Have you listened to anythin’ at _all_ except for the fact that we were together once upon a fuckin’ time?’

‘I’ve listened—’

‘No,’ Guan Shan says, cutting him off. ‘That would have been you realisin’ what I’m sayin’ to you. That he was a piece of shit. That he hurt me. That he couldn’t fuckin’ _tell_ when to stop. Did you—did you hear _any_ of that?’

He Tian’s mouth is parted; he holds his arms differently now. Still folded, but like he’s trying to stop himself from touching Guan Shan out of fear, not anger, a glaze of devastation over his eyes.

He Tian wets his lips. ‘Hey, I didn’t—’

‘You didn’t.’ Guan Shan looks at him. ‘But you’d better. Soon. I’m not makin’ the same mistake twice.’


	19. guangxi, wasn't it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guan Shan & Theo / Interaction between Guan Shan and Theo from the [‘sweet tooth’ (Crazy Rich Asians AU) fic.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16616780/chapters/38950379)

‘There’s—there is absolutely _no_ reason that card shouldn’t work. I have funds. Lots of them!’

Guan Shan pauses as he accepts as he takes his coffees: two Americanos to go, one sugar-sweet and syrup, the other dark, a dash of milk to curb the bitterness. They’re overpriced, like everything in Singapore, but He Tian bought him here once, their fourth date, and sentimentality has rooted itself under Guan Shan’s skin. 

He knows that voice, a distant memory piecing itself back together. When he turns, glances at the man it belongs to, he knows for sure. The tortoise-framed glasses, the matching patterned silk suit that looks like pyjamas, all flowers and indigo. 

Guan Shan wanders over, hands his card to the cashier. ‘I’ll get this,’ he says. 

The cashier pauses, shrugs, and swipes Theo’s order through. Transacted, Theo tugs on Guan Shan’s arm and pulls him over to the ‘Pick Up’ counter.

‘That—was _really_ not necessary,’ Theo sputters, cross. ‘With—all appreciative sincerity—why the _fuck_ would you do that, man?’

Guan Shan leans back slightly until Theo’s hand falls away. ‘Theo, isn’t it?’ he says. 

It takes a second of scrutiny for Theo to realise where he knows Guan Shan—and why. The result is a mouth fallen open wide, eyebrows risen far above the frame of his glasses. 

‘Oh, fucky fuck,’ he says. ‘That’s quite the memory you have,’ he remarks, in a way that Guan Shan supposes should be an insult. ‘I’m afraid mine’s not quite up to par.’ He closes an eye, holds his forefinger out, thumb upright, like he’s lining up a target down the barrel of a gun. ‘Guangxi, wasn’t it?’

Guan Shan shrugs, reduced to a region, his little town on the Vietnamese border. He doesn’t give a shit. It’s probably better that way; he’s come to see anonymity as something of a luxury in He Tian’s world, the ease of being a nobody at He Tian’s side like a gift.

Theo props an elbow on the counter, takes note of the two cups Guan Shan’s holding with a pinched look. ‘How is the bastard anyway?’ he asks. ‘He Tian. How’s he doing?’

There it is. What Guan Shan’s been waiting for. He’s of no interest to a man like Theo; in this exchange, he’s an intermediary, an interloper dressed as a messenger. Guan Shan is going to disappoint him.

‘He’s fine,’ he tells Theo. 

Theo blinks. ‘ _Fine_?’ he scoffs. ‘A man like _He Tian_ is never just _fine_. He’s either riding the biggest fucking high you’ve ever shot or half-ready to cut his own throat.’

Guan Shan tilts his head. ‘Doesn’t sound like the guy I know.’

Theo smiles, pitying. ‘Can’t know him very well then, can you?’

Guan Shan lifts his cup to his mouth, shrugging, and he can see that it annoys Theo. Anyone else and he’d rise to the challenge—a year ago and he’d throw his coffee in their face. But in a year, He Tian’s taught him this: sometimes there’s a pleasure in giving people nothing, even if it hurts.

After a moment, a barista calls out Theo’s order as she slides it across the counter—matcha latte, soy, extra froth—and Guan Shan hands it to him.

‘I gotta go,’ he says, starting to move away. ‘Was nice seein’ you.’

Theo starts to say something, but then his hand thrusts out. He grabs Guan Shan around the wrist, talon-like. His eyes are huge. He’s staring at Guan Shan’s watch.

‘Oh,’ says Theo. ‘Oh, you poor boy.’

Guan Shan narrows his eyes. ‘’Scuse me?’

‘You’re excused,’ says Theo, a little breathless. His eyes are flickering from the watch to Guan Shan’s face like the fast flutterings of a hummingbird’s wings. ‘And you’re quite fucked.’

Guan Shan moves close. ‘You watch your fuckin’ mouth, yeah?’ he growls.

‘You don’t understand. That watch.’ Theo’s still staring at it. ‘There’s a ruby embedded on the underside, isn’t there?’

There is. Guan Shan’s felt it warm on the back of his wrist for the better part of a year. ‘The hell are you—’

‘It belonged to his mother,’ Theo says, voice a whisper. ‘He had the watch made after she died. Tragic thing.’ He glances at Guan Shan, furtive. ‘I’m sure you know _all_ about it.’

Guan Shan doesn’t. He hasn’t pried. He says, ‘He’s told me everything.’

Theo straightens slightly. ‘Of course he has. But—and I only tell you this as a friend—but you should know he’s not really one for love, man. It won’t _last_. It never does with him.’

It strikes Guan Shan as funny, and he presses down a smile. He lifts the two coffees up in farewell, makes sure the watch flashes in front of Theo’s eyes like silver before a magpie. 

‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ Guan Shan says. ‘And you’re welcome, by the way. For the coffee.’


	20. mo guan shan, the dragon boy (nian part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / magic au where he tian summons guanshan the ifrit (or vice versa!)
> 
> Note: Prompt tweaked to reflect Chinese folklore. I couldn’t find a similar equivalent in Chinese mythology, so I thought I’d use the Nian creature instead!

_‘He Tian, stop! You need to stop! It’ll kill us all!’_

He Tian shoved Jian Yi to one side, holding the bone script close to his chest. He staggered with the weight of it, biceps straining, and stumbled further into the forest. Pine needles snapped under his feet, and Jian Yi lurched after him, panting.

‘I’m not stopping, Jian Yi,’ He Tian muttered, breathing heavily into cloudy plumes. ‘Don’t get in my way. I can save him.’

‘It’s a _monster,_ He Tian!’ Jian Yi cried. ‘You have no idea if this is true or not and—it’s _killed_ people!’

_He’s just scared._

He Tian pressed on, the path growing steep as they wandered into the thickets of the forest. It had rained during the day, the ground loose and slippery, Jian Yi skidding in the mud behind him. There was dirt under their fingernails, smeared against their skin and clothing, and the starless sky threatened rain again.

The shouting from the village was quiet up here, the blazing fires a silent flickering of amber, the villagers’ clothing a blur of red as they celebrated the eve of New Year.

‘We’re close,’ He Tian said after a few minutes. ‘You should turn back now.’

Jian Yi’s voice was coming up hoarsely from his lungs, a wheezing sound straining in the night. ‘I’m not leaving you to die, you asshole. Even if it kills me.’

‘I’ll give you a proper burial,’ said He Tian.

Jian Yi’s laughter was strained behind him, a nervousness he’d accepted with weary sufferance. He was in this for the long haul, however long—or short—this was going to turn out to be. He Tian had been tracking the creature for over a year now, every script and painting on the Nian Shou bought with his allowance, the rest with money pilfered from the family coffers, and it all brought him to this. New Year’s. A night of firecrackers and red cloth—and the dragon. The Nian.

Jian Yi huffed with tiredness. ‘I thought you said—’

His words were swallowed whole by the roar that ripped through the treeline, lost in the boom. Leaves clinging to their branches broke free, and the sodden ground trembled beneath He Tian’s boots.

_Too close._

‘If you’re gonna do that incantation, He Tian—’ Jian Yi started, voice high and _scared._ ‘You’d better—’

‘I need to see him,’ He Tian said. ‘It’s what the bones say.’

‘You want to listen to what some old _bones_ say while there’s a bloody _dragon_ nearby—’

He Tian whirled, smacking his hand across Jian Yi’s mouth, any remaining words muffled unheard into He Tian’s palm. He backed them into a tree, Jian Yi’s eyes widening, body trembling, and He Tian saw the moment where Jian Yi started to hear what He Tian was hearing.

Footsteps.

The slow padding of heavy paws against the forest floor. Hot breath exhaled through flared nostrils. The clicking sound of a tongue sucked against sharp incisors. He Tian heard it before he saw it—a hundred feet away, scaly skin like armour, moonlight fragmenting against the panels of green and blue, the lick of flames bursting against the shadows from its skin and mane like fur, the fire that billowed from its mouth, charring tree bark and singing leaves and buzzing gnats into ash.

He Tian dropped his hand from Jian Yi’s mouth. ‘He’s _real_ ,’ he breathed.

A mistake.

The dragon stilled, flames still flickering, and lifted its twisted face into the air. It sniffed once, twice. And started to approach.

‘He Tian, _now!_ ’

He Tian nearly dropped the bone script, the panels a dead weight in his arms after so many hours, but the dragon’s footsteps had picked up pace. He was moving towards them at a run.

He Tian’s mouth was dry as cinder, his tongue slow to work. He forced his eyes to focus on the text he’d memorised months ago, ancient writings near-impossible to decipher, urged his mind to focus.

‘I name you Mo Guan Shan,’ he started, voice wavering, words a rush as the fire grew closer. ‘I name you Mo Guan Shan and that is who you have been and that is who you will be forever more.’

‘He Tian,’ Jian Yi whined fearfully, ‘it’s getting _closer_ —’

‘I’m _trying_ ,’ He Tian snapped. He shifted the bone script in his arms, raised his voice louder. ‘I name you Mo Guan Shan and that is who you have been and that is who you will be forever more.’ Less than twenty feet away, He Tian could see the strands of fur in the layers of fire, the smoke that billowed from its nostrils. _‘I name you Mo Guan Shan and that is who you have been and that is who you will be forever more.’_

Ten feet.

He Tian closed his eyes, fingers white-knuckled around the script. ‘I name you Mo Guan Shan!’ he declared. Heat was lashing against his face, getting hotter. ‘And that is who you have been, and that is who you shall be forever more!’

He Tian’s breath was shaky—but he could hear it. The heat was gone. The forest was silent around them.

‘Jian Yi…’

‘He’s gone,’ Jian Yi whispered. ‘I don’t see him.’

He Tian opened his eyes. Jian Yi was right—the dragon was nowhere to be seen. No orange flames or curling smoke, no padding footsteps and dripping incisors growing close to He Tian’s throat. Nothing.

He turned, squinted through the darkness until—there. A flash of brightness. Something pale and curled in the ground like an opal under the moonlight. He Tian ran to it, nearly caught his feet on fallen tree trunks and gnarled roots risen above the ground, thorns catching on his clothing.

He shuddered to a stop.

Naked and shivering, curved against the cold. A head of red hair like flames, skin white as the snow on the mountains He Tian could see from the village on a clear day.

‘He’s real,’ Jian Yi breathed. ‘All these years— _centuries_ —he was just…’

‘A boy,’ said He Tian, too stunned to be smug, staring down at the young man at his feet. ‘Mo Guan Shan, the dragon boy.’


	21. beast or man? (nian part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / Continuation of Magic!Au where He Tian tries to hide Mo and teaches him how to live like a human does because the villagers are out for his blood for their lost ones.

‘These things—so fuckin’ stupid. So… in my way.’ ****

He Tian smirks at Guan Shan, plucking at the fabric draping his arms, his legs. The red tunic is slightly too long, trousers gathered loosely around his ankles as he slips into leather boots. All He Tian’s clothes, leftover from when he was a boy, still too big on a thing like Guan Shan, a little too slight from a hard winter, muscles atrophied and working their way back slowly with congee and bone broth.

‘You’ve spent too long without them,’ says He Tian. ‘They protect your modesty. And other people’s eyes.’

Guan Shan frowns. ‘People’s eyes? I can’t breathe fire like this. My body can’t fuckin’ hurt anyone.’

‘It’s a figure of—’ He Tian scratches his head. ‘You know what? Never mind. Just wear it, would you?’ A thought makes him pause. It’s inappropriate, lingers on exploitative, but what does nudity matter between two men? ‘You can take if off when it’s just the two of us.’

Guan Shan sighs. ‘Fine,’ he says. To his evident chagrin, lip curled, he adds, ‘You get me my food. I’ll keep my end of this bargain.’

He Tian bows his head. ‘Appreciated.’

It’s dark outside, He Tian’s shutters closed against a star-thick night. The town is louder, brighter than usual. Two weeks and no attacks, and the people are rejoicing their sudden luck. No one has questioned the new redheaded presence in the town, but neither has anyone seen him. He Tian still wakes up with sweat-pricked skin, waiting for someone to have connected the dots and found the newcomer hidden away in He Tian’s rooms. To discover the Nian-turned-boy come down from the mountains and into their homes. 

And yet—the boy’s a tiger, a creature made for the woods and the clean air, and Guan Shan hasn’t left the four walls of He Tian’s bedroom in weeks. He Tian has found him curled in front of the fire in the middle of the night, catches him pacing the room and scratching mindlessly at the floorboards with his fingernails.

‘It will be quiet in a few hours,’ says He Tian. ‘Everyone will be sleeping.’

Guan Shan narrows his eyes at him. For someone freed from the bounds of a thousand-year-old curse by He Tian, his suspicion of him is still strong.

‘So what?’ Guan Shan asks. 

‘So,’ says He Tian. ‘You have real clothes now… I’ll give you a hat—to hide your hair. We can go outside. A walk.’

Guan Shan’s eyes dart between He Tian and the window. ‘Outside?’ he echoes. ‘Really?’

‘Of course,’ says He Tian. He stands up from the bed. ‘I wasn’t going to keep you here forever.’ 

* * *

He Tian loses him in the first ten minutes they go outside. It’s predictable, but it takes He Tian by surprise. His own tracking skills are impeccable, embedded in his blood, his family’s hunter heritage, but Guan Shan’s disappearing skills are better. A shadow in the night, footsteps too light to hear, a dragon-cat built to slink away from paths and traps and move downwind from the wolf packs. 

‘Guan Shan,’ He Tian whispers, crossing through the empty town square, moonlight casting his shadow onto the cobbles. ‘Guan Shan, where are you?’

His question goes unanswered, and his eyes catch on the horizon beyond the town. The darkened treeline. The woods, a shallow pathway into the mountains, where He Tian and Jian Yi had found Guan Shan two weeks ago. 

His home.

It’s an easy path in the yellowish gloam, ground hardened from cold weather and no rain, and He Tian follows his old footsteps with ease. His footprints have faded or been worn away by other sets of boots, and He Tian knows that the lack of Guan Shan’s own prints doesn’t mean he hasn’t been here. He Tian presses on in determined silence.

A flash of red catches his eyes a mile up, a piece of cotton clinging to web of thorns. The tunic. Guan Shan, unused to wearing clothes, unused to this body, ensnared by the surroundings of his own home. 

He Tian lowers his eyes, continues along the path, slower now. He shouldn’t have brought Guan Shan into the town; Jian Yi had been right. He’d put them all in danger. For the first time, he wonders if perhaps Guan Shan hadn’t wanted to be released. What did he know about the curse? About the curser? What had come first—the beast, or the man? 

His questions go unanswered, interrupted by the sound of voices. He Tian picks his way carefully along the path, presses himself against the wide trunk of a yew tree when the voices are clear enough, the yew’s boughs clustered with red berries that glint blood-like beneath the moon. 

‘He Tian never introduced you when you arrived. How rude of him.’

He Tian grits his teeth. He recognises the voice, silver-tongued and cloying. The swordsmith’s son. 

‘I had a long journey,’ comes Guan Shan’s reply, and He Tian’s heart pulses quickly at the sound. ‘I needed to get my strength back before meetin’ anyone.’

There’s a snap—bracken and fallen twigs breaking underfoot, She Li taking a step. ‘And look at you now,’ he says. ‘Wandering unaided into the mountains in the middle of the night. You should take more care, sir. There are monsters in these words.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ Guan Shan says flatly. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Against the Nian? I’m afraid none have met that creature and lived to tell the tale. Except my father, of course.’

There’s a hesitant pause. ‘Your father?’

‘The greatest swordsman in our region,’ She Li remarks. Liar. ‘He fought the beast twenty years ago, left it with a gash all the way down its hind. Not enough to kill it, I’m afraid.’

He Tian swallows this. He’d thought the story was a lie, that She Qi’s tale was told with deer’s blood drying on his sword and a gash through his right eye from falling on a rock shard, drunken stumblings down from the mountains spun into glory. But He Tian’s see the scar that dips below Guan Shan’s waist and down his right side, deep and silvery, ridged to the touch. His blood on She Qi’s sword. His claws blinding the man’s eye.

‘S’that so?’ says Guan Shan. There’s an edge to his voice—He Tian knows exactly what it means. ‘Maybe soon he’ll get another chance.’


	22. Tall, Dark, and Filthy Rich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / "Guess who I met on the street today~"

It’s a slow night, the house full—doors slamming and feet treading up the stairs, laughter drifting in-and-out while they wait for last-minute appointments—and Guan Shan has an 8pm slot pencilled in. A man in his forties, dinner at Baodu Feng, maybe a blowjob in the back of the car if Guan Shan’s feeling lively enough for a tip. It’s their usual rendezvous—Guan Shan a dewy youth at Hsien Yu’s side, a leather booth for two, a plate of sticky rice and tripe to share. He’s pressing aftershave beneath his shirt collar when Jian Yi slips into his bedroom.

‘Guess who I met on the street today,’ he croons, flopping onto Guan Shan’s bed, head propped behind his hands, eyes smugly on the low ceiling. A floor lamp in the corner of the room tinges his white hair yellow, and tonight he wears tight jeans and a sequined purple jumper to match the fake amethyst gemstone in his right earlobe.

Guan Shan grunts and moves over to his dresser, rifling for a clean tie in the drawers to match his paisley shirt. ‘Don’t care.’

‘Oh, I think you do.’

‘Trust me,’ Guan Shan counters impatiently. 'If it comes outta your mouth, I don’t.’

'Too cruel, Red,’ Jian Yi pouts. 'Maybe I won’t tell you about Mr Talk, Dark, and Disgustingly Rich.’

Guan Shan rifling pauses. 'The thousand yuan tip guy?’

Jian Yi’s expression is pointed and pleased, a dog who’s caught the stick in its mouth. 'And you said you didn’t care.’

'I don’t,’ Guan Shan says. 'I have an 8pm appointment. Real work.’

'Real blowjobs,’ remarks Jian Yi, mouth downturned. He looks Guan Shan up and down. 'Let me guess. Hsien Yu, the old letch? _Ugh_ , that guy needs a wife.’

'He’s forty, not dead. And he doesn’t fuckin’ take without askin’ first.’ Guan Shan can’t believe he’s defending the guy, but he’s a regular, and customers who use the services of the house and keep their hands to themselves are a rarity.

Jian Yi waves Guan Shan off. 'Talk, Dark, and Filthy Rich could take what he wanted from me any day.’

Guan Shan’s mouth twists in distaste. ‘You’re quick. What happened to your Monday Night Guy? Zhan-something?’

‘Oh,’ says Jian Yi, kicking his feet against the base of the bed. ‘Please. He’s marriage material.’

‘And the rich guy—’

‘Is a quick fuck in the furniture store and you’ll swallow if he tells you to.’

‘You’re disgustin’,’ Guan Shan mutters.

‘We work in the sex industry, my friend. No time to be _coy._ ’

 _Companion industry,_ Guan Shan nearly corrects, but he’s not sure who he’d be trying to convince—Jian Yi or himself. Three years of this, and it’s chaste, for the most part, but not enough that Guan Shan can ignore the rest of it—car pulled over on the side of the road, head bowed into a lap; bruised knees on a tiled floor; a knife under a hotel bed, just in case.

‘Did you talk to him?’ Guan Shan asks, despite himself. ‘The guy.’

Jian Yi bolts upright, grinning. ‘I _knew_ you were interested,’ he says, a sharp accusation, viciously triumphant. He indulges in it for a moment, then concedes. ‘I didn’t. I saw him in Chaoyang Park. He looked busy. All business. His _bodyguard_ was wearing a suit that would pay more than my annual salary.’

Guan Shan grunts and props himself against the dresser, arms folded. It sounds right, to a point. Mr He flashed enough money during their appointment for Guan Shan to spend the evening in a state of nauseous awe. He’d had rich clients, men and women with busy schedules who travelled often and talked little and found it hard to sustain any kind of relationship.

He’d never been hired by someone like Mr He, money in his pores and charm to stop you in the streets. The man didn’t need to _pay_ for Guan Shan’s company, not least for a companion who smiled little and laughed less. Granted, the books had been full last week, but Guan Shan was the wrong choice to boost the ego of a man like that.

‘You should call him,’ says Jian Yi, waggling his eyebrows. ‘See if he wants another round.’

‘We didn’t fuck,’ Guan Shan snipes. ‘We watched a fuckin’ basketball game.’

‘Oh, I know. You were in the tabloids.’ Jian Yi wiggles his fingers in Guan Shan’s direction. ‘Mr He Tian’s _mystery man._ ’

Guan Shan rolls his eyes. ‘I’m not desperate. I’ve got other clients.’

‘Not ones that look like that. Not with that kind of money.’ Jian Yi gets to his feet, stretches cat-like until his jumper rises above his midriff. ‘I dunno, Red,’ he says, dropping his arms to his sides, shrugging. ‘What have you got to lose?’


	23. bed me, feed me, fuck me (love me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / Mo realizing he loves/has feelings for He Tian? along the lines of "huh, so this is how is going to be"

It happens like a car crash—too fast, too much, external fissures and the structure caving in, internal organs just about protected. Shock absorption. Guan Shan’s ears are ringing, jaw aching, back of his neck burning like the ache of whiplash striking him bone-deep. It’s not supposed to hurt this much, is it? Realisation like a punch in the face, like looking down and seeing your teeth in your hands, dirty with blood and gum.

‘Fuck,’ Guan Shan says. And then, again, ‘Oh, _fuck_.’

He Tian looks up at him, hands on the corners of the duvet, ready to shake it like the billow of a wave.

‘You good?’ He Tian asks archly. ‘Your face—’

Guan Shan sucks in a breath. He swipes up the towel he’d let drop to the floor, finishes running it through the shorn strands of his wet hair. ‘I’m—It’s—The fuck are you doin’? You never make the bed.’

He Tian lifts a shoulder. ‘You like it,’ he says. He lifts the sheets, makes a single jerking motion that makes them flatten across the mattress. ‘Should probably keep myself in your good books and stop having you think of me as, what was it, a _lazy messy fuck_?’

‘I need to clean the sheets anyway,’ says Guan Shan. ‘They smell like—’

_Sex. Cum. You. Us._

‘Later,’ says He Tian, smoothing out any lines. ’We should get breakfast. You like that place in Dongcheng, don’t you? With the wontons?’ 

Guan Shan stares at him, says dumbly, ‘It’s half an hour away.’

He Tian swipes his car keys from the bedside and swings them around his forefinger. ‘I’ll drive,’ he says. He’s showered, dressed, a clean shirt unbuttoned at the throat. The look of him strikes Guan Shan, the internal earthquake passing, aftershocks trembling through him now. 

At some point, He Tian has made a space for himself, stockpiled a few shirts, pairs of underwear, neatly folded jeans and a pair of dark dress slacks Guan Shan has only ever seen He Tian wear at funerals and meetings with his family. 

Had they talked about that? Had Guan Shan approved this development? He Tian’s clothes pressing against his in the drawers, He Tian’s skin pressing against his in his bed? When had this happened?

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ He Tian asks, not quite worrying, but close enough. ‘You’re looking kind of…’

‘Just real fuckin’ tired,’ Guan Shan lies easily. ‘Last night was, uh, a lot.’

It’s the right thing to say—it touches He Tian’s ego just enough, tugs at the corners of his mouth, brightens his eyes beneath a mop of dark hair, too long at the fringe, wet tendrils dripping against his brows. 

‘No rest for the wicked,’ He Tian says, in _that_ voice, dark and rich and promising. He takes a step forward, and Guan Shan holds up a hand in warning. His chest is feeling tight and unpredictable, likely to explode if He Tian comes too close, layering the bedroom in shrapnel. 

‘I’m hungry,’ Guan Shan says weakly. ‘You promised me breakfast.’

‘Needy this morning, huh?’ He Tian teases. ‘Bed me, feed me, _fuck_ me.’

Guan Shan scowls at the implication. ‘Don’t act like you’re not willin’.’

‘I’m _always_ willing, darling.’

He seems satisfied when Guan Shan rolls his eyes, teasing forgiven, and moves towards the hallway, leaving Guan Shan alone in their bedroom.

His bedroom. 

_Fuck_.

Guan Shan looks about the space, the walls He Tian helped paint, the bed he helped build, through the adjacent bathroom where He Tian’s toothbrush sits in the same cup as his, the light He Tian turns out for them at night, the bed where He Tian’s lips trail Guan Shan’s skin like freckles, nails grazing his skin until he falls asleep. An arena of fighting and apology-fucking.

Guan Shan breathes in belly-deep, and sighs. 

‘So this is how it’s gonna be,’ he murmurs, running a hand through his hair. ‘Here’s to not fuckin’ it up.’


	24. she li's pet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guan Shan x She Li / mob boss she li and his bodyguard guanshan are in a loving relationship after she li picked him off the streets

‘He’s cute, isn’t he? Looking at you like that.’

Guan Shan curls his lip. ‘He’s wastin’ his time.’

‘You should go and tell him,’ She Li says. He lifts an arm, fingers nesting in Guan Shan’s hair, nails grazing against his scalp. A shiver trembles through Guan Shan’s spine. ‘Tell him it’s futile.’

Guan Shan glances aside at She Li. ‘You want me to?’ he asks.

She Li shrugs artfully. ‘I don’t see any harm in it,’ he says, in the kind of voice that says he sees exactly what the harm is, where it is, how it could come to be. The kind of voice that leaks with a confidence that says, for all the millions of fragmented possibilities ahead of them, it will _never_ come to be. 

Guan Shan sighs, walks away with She Li’s fingertips ghosting against his palm, and stops in front of the dark-haired man at the other edge of the ballroom. He’s handsomer up close—angular, stronger-featured, a glimmer in his oil-spill eyes. Expensive, tailor-made suit. Taller than Guan Shan by a few significant inches. Taller than She Li. Built from a different kind of cloth, all granite and night black skies.

‘You’ve been watchin’ me,’ Guan Shan says when he gets there. The gala started an hour ago and the man’s eyes have hung on Guan Shan’s frame like an iron weight—through the donation drive, the auction, the canapes. ‘You need to stop.’

The man doesn’t look embarrassed—or apologetic. He’s smiling. 

‘I heard about you,’ he says, putting his hands in his pockets. His voice is higher than Guan Shan thought it would be. Less gravelly. Warmer. A token gesture of shared confidence. _We’re the same, you and I. ‘_ She Li’s pet. Picked out the pits of Shanghai, right?’

Guan Shan’s face twists. ‘I’m warnin’ you.’

‘And I heard you,’ the man says. His eyes flicker past Guan Shan to where She Li is standing at the other end of the hall, watching, amber eyes steady as a cat’s. ‘What’s someone like you doing with a thing like that?’

‘I work for him,’ Guan Shan says. _I love him. It’s a long story._ ‘The rest is none of your fuckin’ business.’ 

‘Huh,’ says the man. ‘Ever thought about a change in employer?’

Guan Shan narrows his eyes. This proposition—business or pleasure? _Does it matter?_ The lines all blur eventually, and this isn’t the first time Guan Shan’s been approached. Veiled questions, suggestive eyes. It’s all futile, and Guan Shan reads people well. 

‘The auction’s over,’ says Guan Shan. ‘I’m not for sale.’

‘I didn’t say you were. Him, on the other hand…’ He jerks his head in She Li’s direction, goading, violently provocative. ‘Do you think he’ll want you around forever? Even when something blonder and prettier comes along?’ 

_You wanna play that game?_ Guan Shan thinks. _Let’s fuckin’ play._

‘You think he’s cruel,’ he says, knowing he should walk away, knowing that a small part of him is enjoying this. ‘Think you’d _treat me better,_ yeah?’

The man pauses, inclines his head, and Guan Shan uses the opportunity to take a step closer. 

He says, quietly, ‘If he’s gonna hurt me, at least he’d say it. But you? You’d do it with a clear fuckin’ conscience and a smile.’ He looks the man up and down, notes the fading curvature of the man’s lips. ‘That—golden boy morality of yours? You should get it checked out.’

The man’s eyes dart across Guan Shan’s face. Go back to She Li’s. ‘He’s a bad person,’ he says, quieter, all earnestness. ‘Trust me.’

Guan Shan shakes his head, steps away. The man isn’t listening. Blinded by a crusade of good intentions and, apparently, a dirty history She Li had failed to impart. Typical.

‘Trust me,’ Guan Shan says. ‘I already know.’


	25. it's dry as balls out here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / "you need to learn to love yourself" from He Tian's POV

He Tian kicks his boot through the rubble of an old shopping centre. Only the shell of the east-side wall still stands, windows smashed in, wysteria creeping twenty feet over the concrete. A cherry blossom stands in the middle where a fountain must have once stood, metal coins scattered beneath glass and metal rebar. Something catches beneath his boot, and He Tian reaches down to unleash it from the ropey shackles of a tree root.

He turns the plastic bottle in his hand. _Learn to love yourself,_ it reads. _Apply moisturiser morning and night to clean skin for beautiful skin_.

He Tian chuckles lowly to himself. When he glances around, he suddenly sees the array of little bottles and plastic pipettes and synthetic makeup brushes sticking out through the mortar like dark new shoots. He’s standing above the remnants of a cosmetics counter, he realises. A department store, maybe.

He Tian tosses the bottle to the ground. It skitters, bounces three times, and a crow caws as it launches from an empty window, dark wings beating against a still, dry air. He shakes his head. There’s no food here – no water. What could have been here was likely pilfered long before the world turned. A warehouse would’ve been better, but the maps aren’t reliable anymore. He Tian sighs into the confines of his mask, a make-shift bandanna with a strip of filter gauze stitched into the centre. Two days of trekking, and the wasteland offers him this: a blue-grey sky that is too bright to look at, and the dust that will come soon – it always does.

He glances down again, deliberates, and picks up one of the bottles. Every find is a treasure. Every treasure can be bartered for. How many women – how many men – would pay well for something like this? A few packets of ramen, maybe. Perhaps a litre of bottled water. Even lighter fluid or four cigarettes or–

‘Dry skin?’

He Tian whirls.

His gun is loaded, but cartridges are hard to come by for his brand of pistol, and he only holds it with his finger on the trigger. Words aren’t a threat – but they can be.

He holds his arm steady, but there’s no one there. He knows the voice came from the general direction of behind, close enough not to be an echo, but fuck knows He Tian has heard things that weren’t really there before now.

‘I won’t shoot!’ he calls out. ‘Just tell me what you want.’

There’s a snicker. ‘You don’t even know where I fuckin’ _am_ ,’ comes the voice. ‘You think I’m gonna be worried about you shootin’ me?’

 _Keep talking_ , He Tian thinks, eyes roaming the landscape. Even a twitch of a mouth will be enough for He Tian to line up a shot.

‘I guess you’re right,’ he says, keeping his voice steady, his arm steadier. ‘Are you going to shoot me?’

‘Not if you get off my land, I won’t. And leave the product with you.’

Product. Land. Typical stakes in territory. He Tian doesn’t have time for it. The guy sounds his age, maybe — and angry. Nothing new. 

‘Guess you need the self-love moisturiser more than I do,’ He Tian muses. ‘It’s dry as balls out here.’

‘I manage.’

I. Not _we_. He’s alone – and He Tian’s found him. Just the shadow of him, standing in the empty window frame of the wall. But a shadow is enough.

‘How the hell…?’ He Tian murmurs. Did the guy climb up there? Scale the wall with deft fingers? He Tian catches a flash of red, the sun beating down on a lock of hair as the guy rolls the back of his skull against the wall.

And He Tian shoots.

Mortar and plaster implode from the wall, a grey plume bursting into the air. It doesn’t hit the stranger, but the impact of bullet on stone is enough to send him falling from his hiding spot, a fox chased from its den.

And then three things happen: the hovering crows launch into the air again, wings kicking up dust from their perches, shadows flashing across He Tian’s eyelids. Then – the thump, the groan. It’s a high enough fall that the guy could’ve broken his legs, or worse, but He Tian gets the feeling he knows how to land well. And thirdly, finally, the wall starts to tremble.

He watches it, uncertain at first, and then hears the crack.

_Fuck._

The wall could have stood there for another twenty years, if it tried hard enough, went undisturbed. A few chunks plummet to the ground, clouds of grey dust ballooning into the air on impact like the aftermath of an airstrike. And then the wall starts to lean.

He Tian doesn’t remember moving, remembers the feel of his surroundings changing, of rounding the corner of the wall and seeing a guy his age sprawled on the ground, a piece of metal piping jutting through his thigh, and then the hair. Not red from dust or the dried rust-coloured blood of a head wound or the burning rays of the sun. Actual _red_. For a moment, He Tian feels as if he’s been struck, too. 

He Tian could leave him there, let the wall finish the job, walk away with one less enemy to confront in a year’s time in a desert where no one is for anyone unless there’s something in return. But something stops him.

The redhead groans under He Tian’s handling, no time for gentleness, and He Tian drags him across the gravel and far enough out of remit that, when the wall finally crumbles, the dust is only a faint sting in He Tian’s eyes. Minutes pass, the dust settles, and He Tian pulls down his bandanna for a deep breath.

‘You fuck,’ the guy is groaning, voice hoarse. ‘You stupid fuck.’ His eyes are closed, and He Tian notices that his eyelashes are red, too.

‘I saved your life,’ He Tian says, crouched beside him.

‘You don’t get a fuckin’ _thank you_ for almost tryin’ to _end it_!’

He splutters, protests lost in a coughing fit, retching dust and plasterboard up from his lungs. There isn’t much blood around the metal lodged in his thigh. A clean impalement, by the looks of it, but He Tian doesn’t know if he’ll ever walk right again.

‘I’ll fix this,’ He Tian says. ‘You can’t defend yourself like this.’

The guy pries his eyes open, just barely, thin slits that have no appreciation for the smile He Tian has started to wear on his lips. If nothing else, He Tian thinks he looks a little frightened.

‘I don’t need your _help_ ,’ he spits, trying to sit upright and getting only so far as to rise up on his elbows with a sharp, defeated exhale. ‘You tried to fuckin’ kill me. Who’s to say you’re not gonna kill me for real as soon as you get to my supplies?’

He Tian’s smile widens. ‘Around here?’ he asks, taking in the desert, the rubble, the familiar emptiness. He sits back on his heels, gun loose in his hand. ‘Well, sweetheart, I guess no one but you and me.’


	26. phantom limbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / a fangirl is interested in Guan Shan, and the boys help He Tian out

‘They have a date,’ He Tian says, toneless. He plucks at the sweating paper label on his beer bottle. ‘On Saturday.’

Jian Yi and Zhengxi exchange glances, and Jian Yi, self-elected and mutually understood spokesperson, leans forward.

‘A date?’ he asks, working his tongue around the word like he’s stepping gently across a minefield. ‘Or a _date_ date.’

He Tian’s eyes don’t lift from his beer. ‘Is there a difference?’

Jian Yi scoffs. ‘On the contrary!’ He juts out a hand, fingers extended, tapping each fingertip as he goes. ‘Where are they going, what are they doing, are they _eating_ together, is it day time or evening—’

‘Who’s going to pay,’ Zhengxi interjects.

‘Who’s going to _pay_ ,’ Jian Yi adds fervently, head jerking up and down. ‘These are all vital qualifying factors. You know what our Mo Guan Shan is like.’ Jian Yi sighs, props his hands behind his head, eyes clouded over with whimsy. ‘Gets himself into these ridiculous situations that we—the dutiful backup that we are—have to get him out of.’

He Tian says, ‘He wouldn’t be going if he didn’t want to.’

At this, Zhengxi snorts. ‘How many times did you drag him along to shit he didn’t want to go to?’

‘We were kids,’ He Tian says bitterly. ‘That was different.’

 _Was it?_ Jian Yi wants to ask. Was it really? How much has changed between the two of them over the years, other than the setting: a stage in place of a classroom, guitars instead of a basketball and an open court, wiping at sweat from their hairline and the backs of their necks after a show, lips sucking down water from their bottles while people fan around them, vying for attention.

Each night, He Tian smiles; Guan Shan glowers from a distance, or leaves entirely. They bicker in the dressing room after the show; He Tian teases Guan Shan for his recalcitrance, looping a heavy arm around his shoulder, breathing in the scent of sweat and tea tree, and Guan Shan shoves him away. They compete for the final word, retreat to their hotel rooms, or the bar, and the cycle repeats.

Jian Yi has never been so desperate for two people to fuck each other.

‘This is different, too,’ Zhengxi continues. ‘He probably feels sorry for the girl. Doesn’t know how to let her down gently. It’ll be awkward as fuck and she’ll realise she’s made a mistake because the guy doesn’t know how to hold a fucking conversation.’

‘He’s not mute,’ He Tian says, rolling his eyes. And then, muttering, ‘You don’t know him like I do.’

They wait for him to expand, and Jian Yi waves a hand to the bartender for another round. They should eat; they need to be at the arena in an hour for tonight’s show, and then they’re hopping a plane to Singapore straight off the stage. Two charity function performances at brunch and dinner, acoustic ballads led with Zhengxi’s gruff vocals, and then a red-eye back to Shanghai tomorrow night. Jian Yi isn’t committing to carrying He Tian’s hungover frame through security.

‘Aquarium,’ He Tian says eventually. ‘Noon. They’re meeting at the station, having lunch in the café.’ His smirk is dark, the kind where you’re unsure if he’s laughing at you or himself. Jian Yi knows the feeling of it on his lips, muscle memory—a phantom limb of apathy. ‘Guan Shan will pay out of pride.’

Jian Yi nods sagely, steeples his fingers. ‘Very true.’

The waiter arrives, provides them with a tray full of beer and a small plate of cabbage and pork dumplings, still hot from the steamer. Jian Yi swipes two, Zhengxi takes a beer, and He Tian drags a hand over his face. He looks tired, dark circles under his eyes. Jian Yi slides the _baozi_ over to him.

‘What are you really worried about, man?’ Zhengxi says, slouching further in his seat. ‘You think he’ll fall for this girl?’

‘Please,’ Jian Yi scoffs, rolling his eyes. ‘Musicians never fall for the fans.’

Zhengxi flashes him a warning look, nudges his foot under the table, and Jian Yi obliges, going quiet. He takes another dumpling, pries it apart gently to release steam.

‘You and Guan Shan have had a thing for years,’ Zhengxi continues, pointing the neck of his beer bottle in He Tian’s direction. ‘You want my thoughts? He’s doing this because he’s got nothing else to go on. When was the last time you took him out?’

He Tian’s glance flickers upwards. ‘We’ve been touring for four months.’

‘Not the point,’ says Zhengxi, shutting him off. ‘Actions speak louder than words with that guy, and fuck knows you’ve always got a lot to say. This is your warning. Get moving. And quick, before he’s too far gone.’

‘You think he’s doing this to prove a point?’ He Tian asks, eyes narrowed. ‘Is that what you’re trying to say?’

‘You’ve fucked each other about for long enough that I’d be happy if he is,’ Zhengxi counters, eyebrows raised. He’s playing all his cards, and Jian Yi’s hands are curled into fists under the tables. ‘We both would be,’ he says. ‘Stop acting like you want to be with him and actually— _be_ with him.’

He Tian’s stare is intense. He hasn’t blinked for a few seconds, and Jian Yi is waiting for him to swing a bottle, glass shattering and slicing into Zhengxi’s skin. Jian Yi’s getting ready to stand when He Tian announces, ‘I’m going to propose to him.’

A beat of silence.

‘Uh, I’m _sorry—_ ’ Zhengxi starts.

 _‘What?’_ Jian Yi blurts.

He Tian is nodding, transfixed. ‘Tonight. On stage. I’m not going to sit and watch him be with other people when I know he could be with me.’

 _In front of everyone,_ is what he doesn’t say. Jian Yi knows what it’s like to want to mark what’s his. To profess it. To put up the borders and barriers and bare his teeth. But He Tian should know Mo Guan Shan isn’t someone who wants to be marked.

‘He Tian…’ Jian Yi warns.

‘You think that’s a good idea?’ Zhengxi asks warily. ‘Really? This isn’t exactly what we had in mind. He’ll fucking _kill_ you.’

He TIan puts both hands on the table. His smile has turned sharkish, the certainty of a general going into battle, a newly promoted _ingenue_ , unconcerned with death—or unfamiliar with it. Jian Yi doesn’t believe it for a second. He Tian is preparing himself to look newly into the abyss.

‘One way to find out,’ he says, getting to his feet. He slides a stack of notes under his half-empty bottle, shoves the last baozi into his cheek and, chewing: ‘Come on, boys. We’ve got an hour to buy a ring.’


	27. smug psychologist bastard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / stoner!Guan Shan

‘You look like you’re lost.’

‘And you look like you’re high.’

It takes him a second, but Guan Shan straightens from where he’s sitting on the campus green, and clears his throat. He squints upwards. His tongue feels slow. ‘You want help or not, chicken dick?’

The man considers him. He can’t be much older than Guan Shan, but the clothing leaves a spark of uncertainty. A post-grad, maybe? Teaching assistant? It’s the button down and slacks, the flash of a wrist watch that probably cost three years of Guan Shan’s tuition fees, plus maintenance. Guan Shan doesn’t look at it for too long.

‘I’m late for a meeting in the Psychology building.’ He glances at his watch. Sunlight glints off the metal. ‘I thought it was around here somewhere…’

‘I’m headin’ there now,’ Guan Shan says. ‘I’ll show you.’

His eyebrows lift. ‘That seems… uncharacteristically generous of you.’

‘Spoken like a fuckin’ smug psychologist bastard.’ It’s a little harsh, his tongue loosened by a mind that is still too open, too prone to brutal honesty of a particular brand. The man opens his mouth to counter the insult, but Guan Shan asks hurriedly, ‘You meetin’ the new professor too?’

His gaze slides to Guan Shan’s. A small smile begins to surface, and Guan Shan finds himself caught on it. He hates it.

‘Sure,’ the man says. He holds out a hand. As if testing something, he says, ‘I’m He Tian.’

Uncertainly, Guan Shan takes it. He makes a startled sound when He Tian grips his hand hard enough to hurt, and then pulls Guan Shan to his feet with a sudden _yank._ Guan Shan stumbles, shoulder knocking into He Tian’s chest, and He Tian steadies him with a hand on his arm. 

‘I’m not high,’ Guan Shan blurts, taking a few jerky steps back. Blood has rushed to his cheeks, reddening the tips of his ears. He’d been enjoying the summer sun, the low hum of cicadas, a blushing warmth on his skin. He could’ve slept there, let the high carry him along into the evening, stomach empty and blood sugar low. Now, he burns. ‘A fuckin’ _warnin_ ’ would’ve been nice _.’_

‘Sorry,’ He Tian says, sounding not sorry at all. ‘I misunderstood.’

Guan Shan swipes his backpack from the ground, loops it over one shoulder, and grinds the spliff in the palm of his hand before dropping the crushed remnants into his pocket. 

He jerks a chin towards the north part of campus, and He Tian falls into easy step beside him. He’s taller by a few inches, long legs keeping up with Guan Shan’s gait; people usually tell him he always seems rushed, like he’s always running from something. He Tian makes none of the usual protests, lopes along as if they’re out for a summer evening stroll, but quips, ‘Where’s the fire?’

Guan Shan glances at him, gravel crunching under their feet. ‘Chasin’ your ass, apparently. Thought you were late.’

‘They won’t mind.’

There’s a touch of something about the phrase— _insouciance_. Arrogance, almost, if it wasn’t said with such little care. On the contrary, Guan Shan knows firsthand that the problem with arrogant people is they care too much. 

‘Guess you’re on good terms with them,’ Guan Shan remarks gruffly. ‘My professor would rip me a knew one if I was late meetin’ them.’ 

They round the old Arts Department building, wisteria and ivy smothering the red brick, and begin to climb the small set of steps up to the Psychology building. It’s a strange, ugly unit built in the seventies that Guan Shan thinks looks like a peeled pineapple, stout and round, with twisting staircases and curved windows that don’t open fully and make the place stifling in the heat.

He Tian is looking ahead, but the side of his face is marked with that same little smile, as if he’s suddenly recalled a joke to tell a friend. Guan Shan hates it because he doesn’t know the punchline; hates it because he wants to.

‘Somehow,’ He Tian says, ‘I get the feeling you wouldn’t mind keeping anyone waiting.’

Guan Shan isn’t impressed by the man’s attempts at psychoanalysing him. He’s had girls do it before. Guys, too. People who want to flatter him and make him seem interesting so he’ll cut them a deal on their supply. He won’t.

‘What gives you that impression?’ he asks now, disinterested, kicking open the door to the building entrance and holding it open for He Tian to follow in behind. 

‘Just a hunch.’

When he doesn’t expand, Guan Shan shrugs and gestures towards the building’s atrium, adorned with so many windows and yet stifled by the concrete. ‘This is it. Ugliest fuckin’ buildin’ on campus. What floor?’

He Tian slides out his phone from his pocket, flicks to a scheduled event on his calendar, and says, ‘Third. You?’

‘Same.’

Guan Shan leads, suddenly conscious of his feet, wary of tripping—conscious of his legs, the weight of his body with another so close behind him. He has the feeling that He Tian would tug on his ankles and smile, bored, while Guan Shan’s cheek smashed into the step—has a feeling He Tian would carry him up them with as much careless ease. The high is starting to fade now, the fuzz at the edges of his skin growing from a pleasant numbness to a persistent, perpetual ache. He’ll have to light up again when he’s back, just to sleep. 

Eventually, they reach the third floor, climbing a winding staircase and pressing in close to the railings to let students and staff make their way down, and Guan Shan shuffles along the corridor until he finds the room number he’s looking for. 

He juts a thumb at the door. ‘This is me,’ he says. ‘Guessin’ you’re not too stupid to find yours.’

‘I’m smart enough,’ He Tian says, humoured. He isn’t offended by Guan Shan, which jolts him a little. He’s amused, and Guan Shan can’t tell if he’s being laughed at. ‘I’ve found mine, too.’

He’s looking at Guan Shan intently, something unsaid passing between them, a secret finally shared, and it’s only then that Guan Shan takes in the name on the door, the sheet of paper listing office hour slots. 

_Jiaoshu He Tian — Psychology_

Guan Shan’s stomach swoops.

Fuck. 

‘You’re—’

‘A smug psychologist bastard,’ He Tian says, playing with the words like a new flavour palate on his tongue. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’

 _‘Jiaoshu…’_ Guan Shan starts, voice dropping, eyes lowering. Are they still bloodshot? Can He Tian still smell it? ‘That’s not—’

_I’m on scholarship. I need this. Ma’s gonna kill me._

‘Don’t worry,’ says the professor. He pats Guan Shan on the shoulder, hard, and leans around to unlock the the door to his office. _His_ office. His voice is low. ‘I’ll be gentle.’


	28. secondhand smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / famous!Guan Shan (unfamous!He Tian) aka bookseller!He Tian and writer!Guan Shan

‘I heard he’s an asshole. A _mean_ asshole.’

He Tian lights up another cigarette, crouches down on an overturned crate. The back door is propped open with a thick hardback, spine broken and pages ruined and wrinkled from rain and spilled ink, and He Tian indulges in the heaviness of smoke in his throat, breath stolen for just a moment. 

‘You shouldn’t listen to rumour,’ he tells Jian Yi, who is propped against the back wall, worrying at his lip. Jian Yi’s cigarette is dwindling in his fingertips, half-touched, and He Tian forces himself to look away from it. 

‘Hard _not_ to when the guy’s press team is setting up inside your store for a signing.’

‘My brother’s store,’ He Tian reminds him. 

Jian Yi jolts forward. ‘Which makes it worse! Protect the family name! The integrity!’

He Tian smirks, grinds out his cigarette beneath the toe of his shoe, newly shined. ‘He Cheng? Integrity? That would be the day.’ He presses his hands to his knees, pushes himself to his feet with a small sigh. ‘Come on,’ he says. ‘He’ll be here soon.’ 

‘Ready to protect the family honour?’

He Tian rolls his eyes. ‘What little there is of it—I don’t think it needs defending from some celebrity thriller author.’

Jian Yi halts in the doorway. His look is incredulous. ‘ _Some_ celebrity? He’s the youngest recipient of the Mao Dun Literature Prize in history. He’s won it _twice.’_

There’s a breathless sort of reverence in the words, an adoration He Tian thought the fair man reserved only for one other person. Waxed lyrical like a starving poet first discovering the moon.

He Tian says, ‘I thought you said he was an asshole.’

Without hesitation: ‘Oh, he is. A mean one.’

—

Jian Yi is right: the man is gruff to his staff, dismissive of He Tian’s. He’s hard-tongued to his fans, and delivers his short welcoming speech in clipped tones and the curved accent of someone raised on the backs of city streets. He Tian’s only interaction thus far takes place with the author’s publisher, a sharp-edged, sly man with silver hair and a series of tattoos peeking beneath the rolled-up shirt sleeves.

He Tian watches the proceedings from the upper mezzanine, arms resting on the balcony banister. The bookstore is big, the building inherited from a long line of He’s and, once, housed a group of Literati scholars during the Qing Dynstasy Men and women waiting eagerly in line, copies new and old clutched to their chests, eager for a glimpse at the man who could create such a mastery. Jian Yi stands at He Tian’s side, eyes on the café on the other side of the mezzanine, where Zhengxi stands cleaning the shelves behind the counter, now empty, listening to the voices from below.

His eyes flicker up, and, seeing Jian Yi, he offers a nod, a small wave. Jian Yi looks away, blushing.

‘Really?’ He Tian asks, unable to help himself. ‘Just fuck already.’

Jian Yi’s eyes go wide, silvery and wet with childlike fear, as if he’s just heard the beginnings of creaking from his parent’s bedroom.

‘We haven't—It’s not—Oh, balls…’ He sighs, dramatic and overzealous, a hand pressed to his forehead like a fainting maiden from one of his battered romance novels from the eighties. ‘It isn’t like I don’t _want_ to,’ he hisses, suddenly correcting himself. An almost defence. ‘But Zhan Zhengxi’s…’

‘Frigid?’

’ _Stoic_.’

He Tian considers the barista, his dark brows affecting an air of eternal broodiness and a painful duty of _thought_. Some Byronic figure blessed with dark, philosophical features and bright, cutting eyes. Beneath it, He Tian knows there lies a shadowy, quiet man who is far simpler than the likes of which Jian Yi likes to indulge.

But He Tian leaves him to his fantasies.

Below, Guan Shan is reaching the end of the first wave of guests, those who’d bought tickets for the introductions and a photo pass with the author. He Tian watches as the man stares, unflinching, into the camera, flinching each time as a fan presses closer, leans in. There’s a curl to his lip that is purely hostile, and a startled look in his eyes for just a second as the camera flash goes off and He Tian realises that the whole thing is a front.

Mo Guan Shan, he realises, is like most other authors who step over the threshold of the store. Unused to crowds, largely content with their own company, enduring social conventions with an awkward manner that lingers on rude.

‘He doesn’t like this,’ he murmurs.

Jian Yi glances at him. ‘The country’s most famous author doesn’t like going on a tour of adoring fans?’ He shakes his head. ‘Imagine standing on a stage and having a crowd of people singing your songs back at you. The _thrill_.’

‘Imagine putting your private thoughts and the workings of your mind on show.’ He Tian glances at the publishing representative, the sharkish figure standing towards the back of the store. He has a smile on his face, yellowish eyes glinting in the light. ‘It’s a horror.’

‘It’s money,’ says Jian Yi, a little more practical. ‘I heard he’s got a three-part movie deal for _Secondhand Smoke_. If it flops, maybe he’ll get a Netflix drama. Maybe a K-drama. He’s set for life.’

More decisions, more executive choices handed over to someone who knows him little and claims a lot. Dreams and secret thoughts set on a screen and gazed at while Guan Shan flinches from the criticism like a camera flash. 

He Tian stops himself—he’s not a writer. He can’t create characters like this, a caricature of a man—a real man—he doesn’t know.

—

He ducks out for a cigarette when the line begins to thin and the sky has grown dark, leaving Jian Yi to watch over the final signings. He won’t get a chance to leave the shop until the early hours of the next morning, stacking away chairs and tables for tomorrow’s opening and reviewing the accounts from the day’s events, a night holed away in the office with straining eyes and a too-dim lamplight Jian Yi has told him to replace a thousand times. 

He hears the door hinges creak, the stomp of boots, an unfamiliar gait. Somehow—he _knows._

‘Got one goin’ spare?’

He Tian glances back, unaffected, and then goes still. He’s different up close; the spotlight attached to the wall beside the fire exit adds a softness that none of his author’s portraits have allowed him. There’s an amber glint to his hair, his eyes, a pellucid quality to his skin. Hard callousness gives way to a strange, chipped beauty that He Tian can’t look away from.

He offers up the carton. 

‘Getting tired of handing out your autographs?’ he asks, only lightly mocking. 

‘Just signed the last copy.’ The author’s lip curls, and he takes a cigarette. ‘I hate this shit,’ he says, and then pauses when he props the cigarette between his lips. ‘Don’t tell anyone I said that.’

The corners of He Tian’s mouth quirk. ‘You’re bringing me good business. You can say what you like.’

Mo Guan Shan leans into He Tian’s cupped hands, the flame of He Tian’s lighter snagging on the end of his cigarette until it blooms like a marigold. He kicks a crate over and sets himself down on it.

‘You’re usin’ a copy of _Secondhand Smoke_ to keep your back door open,’ he remarks, unoffended.

He Tian hides a smile. ‘It’s hefty,’ he says. ‘And we ordered too many copies.’

‘A bookstore with an accidental surplus,’ says Mo Guan Shan. ‘What a luxury. Guess you’re doin’ pretty fuckin’ well from where I’m lookin’.’ He leans back, smoke tendrils drifting upwards. ‘Oldest independent bookstore in Beijing, and you haven’t sold the place out to Suning or Yonghui or some other corporate shit like the rest of ‘em.’

‘The building belongs to my family,’ says He Tian, a finite note to his voice. 

‘I know. My publicist gave me some background.’ Mo Guan Shan glances back. ‘Guessin’ there’s some stories to be told in these walls.’

‘You’d be writing forever if you set yourself to writing about my family.’

There’s a pause, and then, ‘Okay. You got archives?’

He Tian leans back. He considers what the man is saying, what he’s offering. It’s not much, not a promise—but it’s something. And that something starts to warm behind his ribs, a ball of air in his throat that feels like panic.

‘If you come in tomorrow,’ he says, ‘I’ll try and get them for you. But no promises.’

The writer shrugs, stamps out the dwindling cigarette from beneath his shoe, and gets to his feet. ‘See you tomorrow then, Mr He.’

He Tian glances back to watch him leave, the slight set of the man’s shoulders disappearing into the store, the door thudding against the beaten copy of his most famous work. A shift, and He Tian murmurs, ‘See you tomorrow, Mr Mo.’


	29. LOML

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tianshan / drunk and flirty!Guan Shan

The call comes past midnight. The roads into the city are quiet, a few roadworks the only hindrance, but He Tian has driven through sunset to dark skies with little delay, skyscrapers and communication towers rising up in the distance like mountains dressed with campfires. He’s taken his time, beating his ETA by only a few minutes, and he should be able to get a few hours of sleep before the morning conference call. 

In hindsight, getting home was a simple goal, the achievement plain, but the circumstances surrounding his life rarely welcome ‘simple’, and he should’ve known this well. 

He answers the call on the sixth ring, debating whether to answer at all, and Jian Yi’s excited breathing is heavy through the car’s built-in speakers. He Tian, wincing, turns the volume down. 

‘It’s late,’ he says. 

‘It’s Guan Shan,’ Jian Yi says.

He Tian’s foot slips on the accelerator, the car rolling to a slow, dangerous speed on the G95, before pressing back down on it. Hard.

‘I’m on the Expressway,’ He Tian says, glancing in his mirrors. His heartbeat aches in his throat, sweat prickling between his shoulder blades. He ignores it. ‘Where are you? Where’s Guan Shan?’

‘He’s fine–we’re together. We’re in a bar by…’ A rustle. ‘Fuck, it’s–Xixi!’ Jian Yi shouts, phone held away from his mouth, but not far enough. ‘Hey, Xixi! Where are we!’ In the background, muffled movement, bass thrumming, the low tones of a tenor voice. At the thought of Zhengxi being there too, He Tian lets himself breathe again. ‘By Huhai,’ Jian Yi says, mouth back to the receiver. ‘Can you get here?’

He Tian closes his eyes briefly. He knows the area, brightly lit bars nestled beside the lake, live music spilling onto the steady surface of the water, streets petering off into quiet courtyards and narrow Hutongs. He Tian’s mind hinges on the water, images the three men stumbling along its artificial banks. Not deep enough to drown in, surely, and Guan Shan would never be that drunk. Surely.

‘He Tian,’ Jian Yi says, swallowing thickly, moving his mouth carefully around the microphone. ‘He’s _talking_.’

He Tian goes quiet; his mouth, he realises, has run dry. With his eye on the digital speed indicator, he manages, eventually: ‘What do you mean _talking_?’

‘I’ve never heard him say such beautiful words, He Tian. Who knew the guy was capable of such _feeling_!’ Less emphatic: ‘Or any feeling, if we’re being perfectly honest with each other.’

‘Jian Yi,’ He Tian says coolly. ‘What do you mean by talking?’

‘About you. The miserable bastard’s so in love I think he’s going to start crying.’ Jian Yi hiccups. ‘Crying! With _his_ personality! And Xixi won’t even let me film it, the straight-edged, good for nothing–’

‘I’m on my way,’ He Tian cuts in, and then hangs up.

–

‘ _El-oh-em-el._ Light of my life. Love of my life.’ Guan Shan breathes in sharp, a whistling inhale. His reaching hands fall on nothingness, scrabbling on air. ‘Where you goin’? Hey, where are you–’

‘To get you some water.’

When He Tian returns, after looking darkly at Jian Yi and Zhengxi who are propped against the bar, Guan Shan has gone quiet. Docile, almost. He’s sitting on a low sofa in the corner of the bar; an art deco lamp fractures dark red lighting over his skin and leaves the rest of him in shadows, and He Tian takes note of the dilation of his pupils, the web of red veins across the white, bloodshot from tiredness and too much liquor. His breath is sweet-sour from vodka and liqueurs swallowed like shots, and He Tian can smell the sweat on his skin, the scent of him, hot and bothered and _drunk_. 

He Tian presses the glass into his hand, watches him drink in small, carefully thought out sips, as if each movement might lead to tragedy. 

‘You’re angry,’ Guan Shan murmurs. ‘You’re annoyed wi’ me.’

‘I’m not annoyed,’ He Tian says evenly, crouching down before him.

‘Angry.’

He Tian sighs. ‘No.’

‘Then–you’re _somethin’._ I can see it. Your eyes’ve gone all… judgy and dark.’

He Tian lifts his eyebrows. ‘Judgy?’

‘Like when you’re thinkin’ about doin’ somethin’ to someone. All…’ He points two fingers at his eyes, turns them and jabs them towards He Tian’s. ‘All macho and protective and shit.’

For someone as wasted as he is, He Tian commends Guan Shan for still being so astute. He leans back on his heels, breathes out what feels like every particle of air harboured in his lungs. How to explain it; how to make Guan Shan see reason, even at the best of times. He Tian knows—he’s come to _understand_ —that his own logic is not infallible, that Guan Shan catches him at the simplest things, but out of the both of them, Guan Shan’s stubbornness can be exhausting.

‘You’re susceptible like this,’ He Tian says. ‘I wasn’t here, you’re steaming drunk, and–anyone could come along and…’

‘Ugh,’ Guan Shan says, mouth twisted in disgust. ‘You sayin’ that ‘cause you’re worried ‘bout _me_ or ‘cause you’re worried ‘bout _you_?’

He Tian considers this. ‘Can I be worried about both?’ he ventures.

Guan Shan pulls a face, slams the half-empty glass of water down on the table in front of him, liquid sloshing over the sides. Face like thunder, all flirtation gone; all poetic romanticism dissipated into sour discontent. He Tian wants to kiss his pouting lips, wants to brush away the wetness from his lashes.

 _Oh, God,_ He Tian thinks, wishing he were less sober. _Is there anything he could do to make me be less in love with him?_

‘Guan Shan,’ he murmurs, leaning forward slightly. ‘Why are you drinking like this?’

Guan Shan doesn’t meet his eye. ‘Who d’you think was payin’?’

‘Those idiots should’ve known when to stop pouring.’

‘Can’t I just be drunk?’ Guan Shan demands. ‘Can’t I just—drink until I forget I fuckin’ miss you? I felt alone and you weren’t fuckin’ here and… I missed your voice and how low it gets and your judgy eyes and—and your back… Your back is just… really fuckin’ nice and…’ He deflates, all energy gone, folded over like a wind-up toy run out of momentum. He Tian stares at him, leans in, waits for moment, and then—a single, faint snore. 

He Tian sighs. Guan Shan has his chin tucked under him, his shoulders curved inwards in a slump. In a minute, he might start drooling. He Tian puts his hand out, feels Guan Shan’s steady breath on his palm, holds himself back from trailing his fingertips across Guan Shan’s face. 

Out like a fucking light. 

‘Wow,’ says Jian Yi, coming to stand behind He Tian’s shoulder. ‘He really went hard, huh?’

He Tian tilts his head up, smiles. ‘And whose fault is that?’

Hands go up, defensive, and Jian Yi starts to back away. ‘I take no responsibility! He’s a grown fucking adult! At least give me credit for calling you.’

He Tian gives him no credit at all—for now, he has the responsibility of getting Guan Shan home. They’re not kids anymore, but He Tian still has a few extra inches and a few extra pounds of muscle that make it only a little taxing to gather Guan Shan into his arms, head resting on his shoulder, and to carry him out the bar. 

He Tian settles Guan Shan into his car with a smile, careful to watch his head, letting his lips linger on Guan Shan’s jawline as he buckles up the seat belt, breathing in the scent of him. 

He smiles still as he drives through the city and has to drag his eyes back onto the road. He’s looking forward to the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my work, please consider supporting me via the links on my [Tumblr](http://agapaic.tumblr.com).


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